The Dark of Despair
by cjulina
Summary: There has been a significant spike in suicides among Cardiff's homeless and only Ianto believes it is a matter for Torchwood. A Torchwood team (plus PC Andy Davidson) mystery with Janto moments thrown in.
1. Prologue

Grey-blue eyes, clouded with a peculiar mix of grief and hope, gazed out at the equally grey-blue waters churning in the Bay. Somehow, in the middle of the night, Mother Nature had conspired to create the perfect morning to reflect the inner chaos of the young man currently leaning against the railing overlooking Cardiff Bay. The swelling and cresting of the grays, deep blues, dark greens and the resulting white foam as the waves crashed into the concrete barrier captivated his attention. Above him, the dark, threatening clouds whirled and swirled into myriads of shapes only to be ripped apart and reshaped by the near gale force winds from the impending storm. Lifting his eyes heavenward, he could not help but reflect on how true a description of life was evident in nature that morning.

_Life is just like those clouds. In one form until a great force impacts upon it. Reshaped, remolded, and deviated forever from its original path. _Ianto Jones, despite his relative youth, was intimately experienced with great forces crashing upon his life. While somfe had been kind and nurturing, others had been treacherous but all the impacts, both good and cruel, had helped to shape him into the man he was. The forces had remolded and altered him to the point that his life only dimly reflected what he had once imagined it would be. _So many events, so many colossal forces. Recruitment by Torchwood London. Meeting Lisa. Torchwood Three. Jack._

His lips lifted in a slight smile. Captain Jack Harkness was certainly an immense force of nature, affecting and shaping all around him. At time benevolent, terribly brutal when circumstances required but always incessantly pounding away. And if the life shattered into a multitude of shards as a result, he stuck around to piece it back together. Picking and choosing only the best parts, arranging the bits into something far more beautiful and considerably stronger than it had been.

The smile gracing his lips faded as his reflections on the significant forces in his life grew darker. _The Battle of Canary Wharf. My betrayal. The elimination of the Cyberwoman._ It had taken nearly a year but Ianto had finally been able to begin separating his memories of Lisa from the atrocity the Cybermen had caused her to become.

He looked about him, taking in the mounting fury of the elements, momentarily struck by the beauty of it all. Of the battering forces necessary to keep life growing, changing, evolving. _Without destruction there can be no construction_. He smiled to himself, amused with the whimsy and melancholy of his musings. _Who would have thought that I would be at this point? A year and a day ago, I thought my life was over. That I had nothing left to live for. And yet a year ago this very day my life started anew._

Ianto glanced at his watch. He was incredibly late for work. By his usual routine, he should have been there two hours ago. Tosh would already be at the Hub, most likely tweaking parameters on her latest program. In about fifteen minutes, Gwen would be bouncing through the door, calling a cheery 'good morning' to all present. Despite the lateness of the morning, Ianto continued his vigil at the edge of Cardiff Bay. He was determined to stay, if necessary, even if it meant that Owen arrived at work before him.

Yesterday had been the anniversary of the Cyberwoman's elimination. The day had been typically Torchwoodian – full of chaos, dashing frantically about, with one crisis building atop of the previous one. None of the team had even remarked about the importance of the day. More than likely, they hadn't even realized that a full year had passed since that life-altering incident.

Ianto was only slightly bitter, for dedication to Torchwood left little room to dwell on the events of the past. Still it would have been a slight comfort if even one of them had acknowledged the importance of the date in some way. He took comfort in knowing that there was one person who would not forget the significance of this particular day. Which was why, despite the impending rain, the furious wind, the icy temperatures, and the fact he was late for work, Ianto continued to stand there.

He looked again at his watch and felt, for the first time that morning, the stirrings of concern. It wasn't as if they had a standing date to meet at a particular time each week. In fact, given the very nature of their individual lives, they missed each other more than they were able to meet. Nevertheless, Ianto knew, no matter what was going on, his friend would show.

His eyes left scanning the frenzied waters of the Bay and began to search the many walkways and paths leading to the area. Just as the growing concern was about to blossom into outright trepidation, Ianto broke into a huge, encompassing smile. His manner became so relaxed and unreserved that had any of his teammates at Torchwood walked by at that precise moment, they would not have recognized him.

Coming around a bend shuffled a man, his body hunched in on itself to keep the freezing air from stealing all his warmth. Clad in brown polyester pants that had seen better days in the '70s and at least five layers of shirts judging by the many various colored collars about his neck, the coffee au lait skin of his face was weathered and wrinkled prematurely from prolonged exposure to the elements, causing the man to appear far older than his actual age.

As he neared Ianto, the man broke into a wide, toothy grin, reached up to tip the battered, dingy red Fedora that was always present atop his head, and stepped forward to clasp him in a strong hug. Ianto returned the hug with equal strength and they stood there a few moments, hugging and grasping at each other. Then the other man pulled back and placed his hands on either side of Ianto's face. "I thought I'd missed you." His voice held the scant memory of the silky, smooth accent of an American from one of the Southern states.

Ianto's grin only widened. "Not a chance, Tony. There's nothing so important at work that I can't be late just this once. And I wanted to see you, on this of all days."

Tony sobered slightly. "Yeah, it was a year ago today that I first spied you, wasn't it? Sitting over there, if I recall correctly." He lifted a glove-encased thumb to vaguely gesture towards a nearby bench. "Never a more pathetic individual have I ever seen. So lost. So seemingly alone in the world."

Ianto gave a self-depreciating smile. "I guess I was pretty pathetic back then." He reached down to grab a thermos and paper cups from the rucksack near his feet. He poured out a cup of coffee, handing it over before pouring one for himself. With a content grin, he watched Tony clasp the cup in his hands, allowing some of the warmth to seep into his ice-cold fingers before taking a large gulp. Ianto chuckled at the resulting contented sigh before turning to lean his arms against the railing. After another gulp, Tony joined him, their shoulders touching as they watched the thrashing water.

"You were pretty wretched then but look at you now! Confident. Content. At peace with yourself. Happy. You are happy, aren't you?"

His thoughts became introspective before answering. Ianto had too much respect for his friend to answer without analyzing his words first. "Yeah, I am happy. Very happy. Things at work are better. There's still some moments when I feel as if … as if not all is forgiven. But I've come to realize that that is more me than anything my co-workers say or do. I'm still struggling to forgive myself, even though they've obviously not only forgiven, but forgotten it all."

Tony just nodded his understanding. "You are one for taking on the weight of the world, aren't you? Especially when you feel responsible." He paused when Ianto's shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "One day, soon I suspect, you'll wake up and not have it be your first thought of the day. And then shortly after that you'll be able to go an entire day without thinking of it. Eventually it will only occur to you on rare occasion and it won't hurt near as much."

Ianto didn't say anything. He couldn't. When he had poured out his story to Tony those many months ago, he had had to omit many things, twist the truths into believable lies, couching each and every statement in terms that reflected only vaguely on the true happenings in the Hub that day. He couldn't tell of his responsibility for the death of two innocent people and how, by his folly, he had nearly unleashed a threat onto the human race. Nor could he mention how he was still catching himself unconsciously rubbing at his hands, trying to scrub away blood that no longer stained the skin. _Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!_ Ianto's smile turned into a mockery of a grin. _Lady Macbeth could have learned a lesson or two from me._

Instead of confessing his true feelings, Ianto simply said, "I hope so."

Tony reached up, gently squeezing his shoulder. "Trust me, Ianto. I didn't steer you wrong last year that things would get better and I'm not now when I tell you that this will fade in importance until it is but a fleeting memory."

He stared into the liquid black of his coffee before lifting his eyes to look at Tony. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right. Haven't you discovered that yet?" He gave a little chuckle before eyeing Ianto steadily. "Now, are you going to tell me why you're so much happier? It's not just because things are better at work. You found yourself a new girl, haven't you?

"Not exactly." He turned to look back towards the Bay, slightly apprehensive about revealing the truth. While it was true that Tony had been staunchly supportive in all the time they had known each other, he was of a different generation. One that was not nearly so open-minded about such matters. Watching in periphery, he hesitantly continued. "I'm, uh, sort of involved with my, um, boss."

Ianto should have known better than to be concerned. Not once in the year since they met had Tony judged him. He had only listened, asking for clarification when necessary or repeating back statements to be certain he had the right perspective. He had made comments to help Ianto but he had never judged and he certainly wasn't judging now. With eyes alight with glee, he pounded Ianto's back with several hearty pats.

"Jack, right? That's his name, isn't it?" When Ianto nodded, his face broke into a delighted grin. "Well, good on you, Ianto. Just be sure he treats you right cause if he don't Tony here is going to give him what for."

He laughed at the image of short, thin, frail Tony taking on the tall, robust, muscular Jack. He'd offer no odds on the outcome for as ruthless as Jack could be, Tony could be equally spirited in his protection of those he'd taken under his wing. The Captain, without a doubt, would find a worthy opponent in him. With a touch of regret, Ianto looked again at his watch. As much as he would have liked to stay there in the easy companionship with his friend, he knew that he couldn't afford to linger much longer.

Ianto bent down and opened the rucksack propped nearby. "So, I was cleaning out my closet and came upon some things you might could use." He pulled out a thick coat, one specially engineered to withstand extreme conditions. "I was going to toss it out but thought you might be able to use it."

The coat, for all appearances, was old, torn, and in a considerable state of disrepair. The truth, though, was that it had been purchased brand new just a few weeks prior. In his spare time, Ianto had skillfully worked at creating rips and fraying several spots, all without damaging the integrity of the coat. The deception was necessary. Tony, despite his homeless status, was a prideful man. He didn't easily take handouts and he certainly wouldn't accept the coat if it appeared to be in good repair.

With a slight hesitation, Tony took the coat and shook out some of the wrinkles. "Looks expensive. I can't accept this, Ianto."

Carefully schooling his expression, Ianto shrugged. "Well, if you don't want it I'll just toss it out. It's too shabby for me. Bought myself a new coat last week."

Tony squinted suspiciously at Ianto before turning his attention back to the coat. He carefully donned it and ran an appreciative hand over the dark material. "Well, if you're sure, I'll keep it."

Ianto straightened up and handed over the rucksack. "I threw in a couple of woolen socks. Did the best I could patching the holes. I hope they hold up."

Tony, his eyes glistening with gratitude, easily hefted the bag. "This is …" His voice choked with barely contained emotion. "Thank you, Ianto. I've been hoping to come across a coat and here you have one for me." He smiled broadly. "You are a good man to be so kind to this old coot."

"Well, you've been good to this young coot. I'm just returning the favor." Ianto failed miserably in his attempt to copy Tony's Southern drawl.

Tony chuckled as he weighed the bag in his hand. "Feels like there's more than a few socks here."

"Just a bag of oranges. I know you'll give most of them away. Just promise me you'll keep at least one for yourself. You need the Vitamin C."

"I'll even keep two. I've had a yearning for oranges lately. The rest will go to Maggie. She needs something more than the cheese sandwiches we've been able to scrounge for her."

Before he could respond, Ianto's mobile buzzed, indicating a text message had been received. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the phone and read the brief message. _Torchwood._

Tony didn't miss the regret that came into Ianto's eyes. "I'd wanted to get here sooner. Hoped we'd have some time to catch up with each other but the cops wouldn't let me go until I'd given my statement."

All thoughts of Torchwood vanished as Ianto came instantly came alert. "Trouble? Something I can help with?"

"No, nothing like that." Tony's face lost its bright smile. "One of ours killed himself last night. Never knew his name. We just called him 'Sticks'. Poor kid, he was just sixteen. Only been on the streets about a week. Parents had kicked him out when he told them he was gay."

Tony's eyes became haunted as he continued. "We tried to keep an eye on him. To keep him safe. Guess it just all proved to be too much." He sighed deeply. "A life should never be extinguished so young."

"No, it shouldn't." He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I really wish I could stay but …" Ianto's voice trailed off softly.

"Work calls. I understand. You've spent enough time jabbering with this crazy old man anyway." He ran his hands down the fabric of the coat. "Besides, I have a new coat to show off to my friends."

Ianto gave him a brief hug and started to turn away. He stopped, taking a deep breath because he really didn't know how his friend would react to his proposition. "Tony, the next few days are going to be cold. Deadly cold. Would you let me pay for a hotel room for you? Just until it warms up?"

"Look, I know you mean well but I'm no charity case. I can take care of myself." He dropped the rucksack and began to pull off the coat.

Ianto lightly placed his hands over Tony's, stopping him from removing it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I … I just worry about you."

Tony, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, gave a brief nod before picking up the discarded rucksack. "I know you do, Ianto, but I can take care of myself. Besides, I've got to watch out for Maggie and the rest of them. Can't do that if I'm living the life of luxury in a hotel."

Ianto pulled a business card from the inner pocket of his jacket. It was a simple card, merely listing his name and the number used for the fake Tourist Information office. He placed the card in Tony's hand, gently curling the man's fingers around it. "Call me should you change your mind or if you or any of the others need anything."

Tony nodded, slipping the card into a side pocket. "I will. Promise. Now you need to get to work and I need to go about and look for a safe place to sleep tonight. So off with you, you young rascal."

They exchanged a final hug before Ianto started to walk briskly away. He had nearly exited the area when Tony's clear voice stopped him. Turning around, he saw the man hadn't moved away from where they had been conversing.

"Never forget, Ianto. Only through the dark of despair can we truly appreciate the light of joy."

He waved in acknowledgement before resuming his trek towards the Hub. His mind fully occupied with the tasks and duties that would have to be dealt with upon his arrival.

Three weeks later, Ianto found himself glancing at his watch. It was barely seven and it had already been a long morning. The team, having finished the previous day at eleven in the evening, had been called back in shortly after two to capture a rogue Weevil. This was quickly followed by a frantic drive across Cardiff to disarm a powerful bomb from fifty years in the future, kindly dumped by the Rift in the middle of a nursing home.

Just as the exhausted team was about to disburse to their individual homes for a few hours of desperately needed sleep, the electric grid throughout Cardiff began to fail and the cascading event threatened to spread throughout all the UK. Of course, it wasn't a simple case of a Power Station employee flipping the wrong switch at the worst possible moment. No, there had been, as Tosh liked to call it, a "Rift hiccup," a spike so miniscule that it barely registered on the monitoring equipment. These events, in Ianto's experience, often were the most devastating. In this particular "hiccup", tiny aliens, resembling centipedes with moth wings, had converged at a crucial Power Station.

It should have been a simple retrieval operation. Go in, grab the pesky aliens, Retcon the appropriate personnel, return to the Hub, place the aliens in a containment box, and go home to fall in bed for an hour of sleep before starting another day anew. Unfortunately, the centipede-like creatures left an oozing trail of slime that ate its way through nearly everything, including the wires, metal casings, computers, and other critical equipment in the Power Station.

It was only after Tosh noticed that the insulated ceiling tiles weren't immediately dissolving from the caustic glop that Torchwood finally gained the upper hand. While the rest of the team concocted a paper mache mush of ceiling tiles and water, Ianto had taken several of the tiles and a copious amount of Duct tape to assemble a containment box. Once the tiny aliens were safely contained and every surface of the

Power Station had been coated with the pulp, the team, dirty and exhausted, had finally been able to return to the Hub.

So after what had been a very long night and what promised to be an equally long day, Ianto was comfortably sprawled on the Hub's scruffy sofa. Owen's angry mutters wafted up to him from the Autopsy Bay as the medic tried to conceive of some way to analyze the alien slime without melting half the equipment. From Jack's office came soft murmurs as Jack and Tosh tried to come up with a feasible cover story for the Power Station incident. Catching key words of the conversation, Ianto pieced together they had decided to blame it on faulty water pipes in the ceiling. Across from him, Gwen was seated at her desk, idly flipping through several files.

Ianto knew he should get up, should begin doing all the mundane tasks that were necessary to keep Torchwood operating like a well-oiled machine. Instead, he glanced once again at his watch. He was sure that no one would begrudge him if he took a half hour of personal time. A brisk walk in the crisp outside air would do wonders to waken his exhausted mind, and if that walk should take him in the direction towards the nearby park where he often met up with Tony, none of them would be any the wiser. It had been three weeks since he'd last seen his friend and Ianto needed the normality Tony would offer.

Decision made, Ianto rose and made his way to the kitchen area. Into a paper bag, he tossed several oranges, a couple of apples, and a banana that was beginning to brown. Bending down to rummage through a cabinet in search of a sweet or two that Tony might enjoy, he heard a phone begin to ring, the distinct sound indicating it was the line dedicated to the fake Tourist office.

Before he could straighten and walk over to answer it, Gwen yelled out, "I'll get it. It's probably just a wrong number."

In the background, Ianto could hear her voice join in with the other usual noises of the Hub, creating an orchestra of sound that was soothing in its normality. He finished packing the bag of food, idly wiping down the surfaces and doing a quick scan to see if anything needed restocking. When he turned around, Gwen was standing before him, her face tight with worry and concern. Beyond her, he vaguely registered that Jack was heading towards them, the bouncing stride indicating the Captain was in search of coffee and possibly more, judging by the wicked gleam in his eyes. Ianto's focus, however, was on Gwen.

"I'm guessing by your face it wasn't a wrong number." It wasn't quite voiced as a question.

Gwen gravely nodded. "No. It was Andy. He …"

"Your old partner?" Jack's voice interrupted as he sidled up behind her.

"Yeah," she answered, with a quick glance over her shoulder at him.

Jack leaned his long body against the nearby wall, artfully arranging his limbs in a way that appeared both seductive and nonchalant. It was a pose that he had spent two decades perfecting. "So what does Cardiff's finest need from Torchwood." He grinned mischievously. "You can tell him that running out of doughnuts and morning pastries is no reason to be calling us in."

Gwen scowled at him before turning her doleful eyes back towards Ianto. "He asked for you." Lifting a sympathetic hand to his shoulder, she continued. "He needs you to meet him at the morgue."


	2. Chapter 1

There had been but one question from Jack before they departed for the morgue. "Do you know what this is about?"

When Ianto couldn't give an affirmative answer, Jack had stridden to his office, leaving him with the task of extracting himself from Gwen and her numerous questions. By the time he had made his way to his car, he was only slightly surprised to find the Captain seated in the driver's seat, impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Ianto had slid into the passenger's seat, barely strapping himself in before the car roared out of the parking lot. Silence, thankfully, had filled the car during the entire trip allowing Ianto to consider and discard many reasons for the requested audience. By the time Jack was pulling into the morgue's parking lot, he was fairly confident he had deduced the most plausible reason for the meeting.

"Judging by your exceedingly smug expression, a really great look on you by the way, I'm guessing your frighteningly clever analytical mind has figured this all out."

Ianto didn't answer until he had undone the seat belt and fed it carefully back into place. Twisted belts irritated him no end. "Yep." He ignored Jack's expectant look as he, with graceful but economical movement, unfolded himself from the car. Before Jack could follow suit, he leaned back into the open doorway and said, "Someone's going to get a spanking."

There was a frantic scramble and several loudly muttered curses as Jack was captured by the seatbelt before he erupted from the car. He practically bounced his way to where Ianto was standing near the boot.

"So what's this about a spanking?" His eyes gleamed with unrestrained enthusiasm. "If you've been a naughty boy, Ianto Jones, and need Captain Harkness to give you some firm discipline, all you need to do is ask. No need to set up this elaborate ruse."

His right eyebrow rose just slightly. "I'm not the one going to be spanked."

"Oh." Jack began to pout in his boyishly charming way. Almost immediately, his face brightened again. "Oooh. So I'm going to get spanked?"

Ianto chuckled at the predictability of the man. "No." There was a short beat, timed perfectly to milk every nuance of the dramatic pause, before he continued. "But you will be the one doing the spanking, metaphorically speaking that is." He looked over at the dreary, nondescript building. "My main supplier of bodies works here. At a guess, his extracurricular moneymaking scheme has finally come to the attention of his superiors."

"Your supplier works here?"

"Really, Jack! Where other than a morgue would I be able to get the large number of corpses necessary for Torchwood?" He let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm not Mary Poppins. I can't make magical things happen with a click of my fingers." He emphasized the statement with a firm click under Jack's nose.

One of Jack's hands captured his wrist while the other gently straightened one of the fingers. With a mischievous gleam, he sucked the finger into his mouth, tickling the sensitive pad with his tongue. Slowly, teasingly, he released it from his lips with a soft pop. "Oh, I don't know about that. Those fingers of yours do magical things to me all the time."

Ianto firmly clamped down on the rising lust. Not the easiest of tasks since the desire was always there, simmering just under the surface whenever he was within close proximity of his lover. "Business first, play later." His tongue tantalizingly peeked out to moisten his lips while his eyes conveyed the promise of delights to come.

Jack unconsciously imitated his moistening of lips before shaking himself firmly. "Right. Business first. So you think we're here because your supplier has been found out?"

"Yes. And I do believe I've been summoned here for a dressing down by the morgue officials and the Cardiff Police Department."

"We'll see about that."

With quicksilver speed, Jack had turned into Captain Harkness, all business and seriousness. It was one of the many things Ianto adored about his lover, these quick changes in personality. One moment a boisterous, mischievous boy bouncing with barely suppressed zeal. The next the enigmatic, puzzling man who spoke of everything but revealed nothing. At times sad and broken, desperate to connect with someone but so afraid to take the risk. And now, standing before him, was the Alpha dog. All conceit, and arrogance, and grandstanding. Eager to establish dominion of his territory over the rank amateurs he allowed to play in it. He permitted the other agencies to do as they please as long as they left _his_ organization alone. Once they overstepped themselves, tried to place boundaries, or interfered with the duties of Torchwood in any way, a pissing match soon followed. And Captain Jack Harkness was always the victor.

Ianto quickly fell into stride, one step behind and to the left, as the Captain strutted to the morgue's entrance. His face brightened with a keen grin before settling down into an impassive mask. The day was certainly taking an interesting turn. The police department and morgue officials would grouse and yell about the haughtiness and underhandedness of Torchwood. Jack would retaliate by swaggering around, arrogance oozing from every pore, as he demeaned and insulted all present. Threats would fly. Insults would be uttered. Adrenaline would course through veins and Ianto would become even more turned on watching Jack in action. The meeting would end with frustrated, impotent officials cursing the very existence of the not-so-secret organization while he and Jack would disappear to the nearest storeroom, stripping each other in a frenzied quest to touch bare flesh.

They entered the reception area to find the space as dreary and uninviting as the exterior building. Not terribly surprising since a trip to the morgue was no one's idea for a pleasant Sunday outing. A couple of metal folding chairs lined the cold, impersonal white walls. A scattering of health and safety posters, the sort few people actually bothered to read, broke up the expansive white, but only made the room seem that much more institutional.

The Captain, coat flaring dramatically, strode with clear intent to the lone desk near the back of the room. He placed both hands firmly on the flat surface, looming authoritatively over the receptionist. With a commanding, slightly threatening voice, he barked, "Torchwood!"

There was no reaction from the woman, not even a flicker of an eyelid. She continued to flip idly through the latest gossip rag, oblivious to the two men standing before her. Jack deflated just slightly. It was rare that his dramatic entrances did not stop everyone in their tracks and he really didn't know how to deal with the experience. He straightened, looking questioningly at Ianto.

With a slight smirk, Ianto reached over, lightly tapping the woman on her shoulder. Startled, her eyes flew up to take in the two men while the magazine dropped to the floor unnoticed. She reached up to pull two tiny ear buds out, the tinny sound of music wafting into the sterile environment. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't notice you come in. How may I help you?"

Jack did his best to reclaim the theatrical edge of a few moments prior. Slamming his hands back on the desk, he again barked out, "Torchwood!" This time, however, the opportunity for drama had passed and it only served to make him look somewhat silly.

The woman blinked a few times in surprise before reaching over to flip open the appointment log. She muttered "Torchwood" several times as her manicured finger ran down the schedule. "I'm sorry. There's no appointment for a Mr. Torchwood."

Ianto cleared his throat before saying, "Jack, allow me." He waited until Jack grumpily crossed his arms over his chest and nodded somewhat imperiously before turning his full attention to the woman seated behind the desk. "My name is Ianto Jones. PC Andy Davidson requested I meet him here."

"Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Jones." She reached over to grab the nearby phone. "If you'll just have a seat, someone will be here shortly to escort you to him."

Using his most alluring smile, the one that beguiled middle-aged receptionists (and Jack) into doing nearly anything he wanted, he quietly said, "There's no need for that. I'm familiar with the building if you could just tell me where he is."

There was a moment's hesitation before she briefly nodded. "I suppose that would be alright." With a wave of her hand, she indicated the heavy metal door behind her. "He's in Identification Room Three. Take the first corridor to the left …"

Ianto's sharp voice interrupted her. "Third door on the right. Yes, I know."

He ignored Jack's puzzled, searching gaze as he briskly retreated through the door. Only four strides had been taken before he felt Jack's strong grip on his shoulder. He could have shrugged it off, could have continued to tread forward, ignored the implicit request to explain relayed through the fingers flexing on his shoulder. Instead he turned, catching Jack's eyes, their depth still holding bewilderment but now mixed with concern.

"Ianto, what's wrong?"

He released a slow breath, willing the unease that was scuttling along his skin like an army of spiders to dissipate. "This isn't about Torchwood illicitly purchasing cadavers in the middle of the night. If that were the case, we would have been directed to one of the meeting rooms." He turned to look down the cold, impersonal hallway, hearing, in an almost disconnected manner, his words echoing slightly in the deserted space. "Identification Room Three is exactly what it sounds like, where bodies are identified by family or friends." He turned his eyes back towards Jack. "It doesn't make any sense. I no longer have any family living in Cardiff. All of my friends, outside of Torchwood Three, died at Canary Wharf. There isn't anyone …"

With a quick stride, he took off down the corridor, turning sharply into the left hallway and found himself standing before a door, the number 3 stenciled in faded black on its surface. With growing trepidation, he opened it.

It was one of those moments many people speak of but few truly experience. In less than it takes a heart to beat a single time, he took in the space in exacting, perfect detail. The room was sparkling white. Recently painted, he guessed from the lack of chipping, peeling, or dirt darkening its surface. Along the back wall was a wide window, curtained on the other side of the glass. The white fabric rippled as if someone had recently walked nearby. Set to the side of the window was a comm. grill with a switch and a small button underneath. In the center of the room stood a small, square table. There were two metal chairs positioned around it. One was vacant. The other occupied by PC Davidson. Two more chairs were folded neatly against the right wall.

Piled atop the table's battered surface was a mixture of items. Clothes, ragged and torn. A tattered rucksack. Scatters of papers of various sizes and colors with no logical order or sense to them. A coil of string. A torn paper coffee cup. A nub of a pencil, its end ragged and hacked as if sharpened by a dull blade. And atop it all, sat a red Fedora, battered and dingy from age and use.

He sensed, in a rather disjointed fashion, Jack arrive behind him. Felt his firm grip return, comfortingly, to his shoulder. Saw, without truly seeing, Andy's face turn in response to the door opening. Noted the scraps of paper lifting and falling into a new pattern of chaos as the rush of air reached them. His unconscious mind took it in every detail, in that tiny moment from one heartbeat to the next. Everything was identified, catalogued, labeled, processed, and noted but without any effort by him. His conscious world reduced to just one thing. The shabby, so terribly familiar, red hat.

"You must be Ianto Jones."

With that one sentence, the moment was broken. Time moved on. His heart took a beat and then another.

With a faint smile, he nodded. "Yes, and this is …"

"Captain Jack Harkness." Jack leaned around Ianto, extending his hand towards the man and smiling that 'come hither, aren't I the most amazing specimen you've ever seen?' smile of his. That Jack was mildly ogling Andy didn't bother him. He had long ago worked out the true purpose to Jack's flirting. It wasn't a come on and it wasn't the first stage in a scheme to bed the person, though if that were the outcome Jack certainly wasn't adverse to the notion. Jack used flirting simply as another weapon in his massive arsenal. It was meant to either charm a person into stupidity or put them instantly on the defense. Either way, the person was pushed off-balance making it easier for Jack to manipulate and control them.

Andy, predictably, went on the defensive. Ianto could see the hackles begin to rise and feel Jack begin to tense in anticipation. He was almost relieved by the distraction. The longer it went on, the longer he could deny the truth. _If I keep pretending everything is okay, if I refuse to acknowledge that it is his hat sitting there, I won't have to admit Tony's dead._ And then he realized he couldn't fall into that trap again. He had lied to himself for too long that Lisa was truly gone with disastrous results. He had come too far, learned too much in the past year. He would not permit himself the luxury of denial any longer.

He stepped forward, firmly positioning himself between the two combatants. A quick admonishing glance had Jack backing down, though with a decidedly smug, almost condescending smirk leveled at the PC. Andy followed suit but not before giving the Captain a contemptuous roll of his eyes.

"I understand from Gwen that you needed to see me, PC Davidson. How may I be of assistance?"

There was a flicker of surprise at the formality. "No need for that. Andy'll be just fine." He moved to sort through the numerous items on the table. "There was a body found this morning in Waterside Park. No form of identification but inside his coat pocket we found this." He handed Ianto a familiar card, one showing his name and the number for the Tourist office.

He numbly stared at the card resting in the palm of his hand. _Such an insignificant thing and yet so very much significant. Further proof Tony is dead._ Without realizing it, his fingers curled into a tight ball, crushing the thick cardstock. "I … yes." He shook himself from his stupor. "I gave this to a friend a few weeks ago."

Andy's entire manner, not just his eyes, displayed his compassion and sympathy. In many ways, he wasn't very different from Gwen. Just as empathic and understanding but a bit more reserved about charging ahead in a desire to help. "We need you to identify his body."

"Of course." It wasn't until Jack nudged him lightly that he moved over to the curtained window. At his brief nod, Andy flipped the nearby switch, causing the curtain to open slowly. It was a surreal moment. He found himself focusing on everything other than the body that lay before him. The bright silver shine of the trolley. The one smudged thumbprint on a corner defacing its pristine state. The whiteness of the body shroud. With effort, he forced himself to look at the face and let out a sharp breath of relief.

"I'm sorry I can't help you. This isn't …"

"Carl, you damned idiot!" Andy's face darkened with fury as he angrily pounded the call button. "This is the wrong John Doe. I need the one from Waterside Park."

The anger morphed into contrition as Andy turned towards Ianto. "I'm sorry. It's no excuse but I had the misfortune of bagging two John Does last night. Guess it's causing some confusion for the blokes in the back."

He numbly nodded, not quite paying attention to the words, nor to Jack who had stepped behind him, placing hands lightly on his shoulders. He watched the flurry of activity through the glass. The trolley being wheeled away. The shadows of movement that flitted at the edges of the space. The curtain that lifted and rippled as the air stirred. Then a new trolley with a new body was slowly wheeled into view.

"That's him." At first Ianto felt nothing, nothing but cold and empty. He lifted a hand to the glass, not caring that he would be marring its surface with smudges. _This is wrong. So very wrong. He should be wandering in a park, tipping his hat to everyone he passes. He should be smiling. He shouldn't be here. _The pain of loss rushed in, so sharp that it forced all the air from his body. His stomach clenched. Eyes blurred with unshed tears. _He shouldn't be here._

The curtain closed slowly and Jack tugged him away, leading him to one of the chairs. While Andy and Jack seated themselves, Ianto reached over and pulled the Fedora towards him. Perhaps grief had sharpened his senses for his fingers could feel every nub, every slight imperfection as they brushed the surface. With one thumb, he tried to brush away a particularly thick patch of dirt.

He became aware of being lightly shaken and Jack's voice quietly intruded his whirling thoughts.

"Ianto? Andy asked you a question."

He straightened and placed the hat back in the center of the table, brushing its surface one final time before neatly folding his hands together before him. He looked expectantly at the PC.

"I know this is difficult. I'll try to keep it brief." Andy reached into his front pocket, pulling out a small notepad and biro. "Can you tell me his name?"

"Tony."

"Surname?"

"I …" Ianto gave an apologetic shake of his head. "He never told me."

"I know he was homeless but did he ever mention where he was from?"

"He never mentioned but …" Ianto paused as he remembered Tony's accent with its slow, brown sugar coated drawl. "I think he may have been from the United States originally."

Andy nodded as he scribbled down the information in his notepad. "Ever mention family or friends?"

He took a moment to scan through all the remembered conversations, striving to find one tiny shred of information that would prove useful. "He never spoke of family that I recall but there were a few friends he mentioned. He frequently talked about Maggie. Steve. Bill. A woman named Annie but I think she died a few months ago. I don't know any surnames but I do know they are all homeless."

Helplessness flooded in to join and mix with the grief. "I wish I could be of more help."

The smile was fake and did little to mask the disappointment evident in the PC's eyes. "I have a first name and names of people who might be able to identify him. That's more than I had an hour ago." He stood and extended a hand towards Ianto. "If you think of anything else, be sure to get in touch with me."

"I will." Ianto briefly shook hands before standing himself. "Andy, what was the cause of death?"

"Suicide. He hung himself." The bleakness that ran over the man's face once again reminded him of Gwen.

"There must be some mistake. Tony would never commit suicide."

"There's no mistake." He flipped back several pages in his notepad. "There were no defensive wounds. No foreign DNA under his nails. He left a suicide note."

Fury flared, sharp and bitter, burning away the grief instantly. "I may not have known the details of his life but I knew _him._ He would not do that."

With a calm and sure voice, Andy said, "There's no other conclusion to draw. Your friend killed himself."

A brief touch from Jack extinguished the flames. The anger sputtered, dimmed, plummeting until even the embers could no longer hold the heat. In its stead was a cold numbness where no pain or grief or sadness dared to intrude. With a final look at the red hat, he turned to leave, aware that Jack was following silently behind.

He was reaching for the doorknob when he suddenly turned back. "What's going to happen to his bo…" Ianto found he couldn't finish the sentence. He cleared his throat before trying again. "What's going to happen to Tony?"

Andy looked up from where he was sorting through the items on the table. "If we can't find anyone to claim his body, he'll be given a pauper's burial."

"I'll claim his body."

A shocked moment passed before Andy quietly, and respectfully, responded. "You can't. You aren't family. Ianto, you don't even know his last name. We can't release the body to you."

_A coffin of rough wood. A nameless plot. Not even the dignity of a headstone. Is this to be the measure of his life? To be hidden away and forgotten just as Lisa was?_

"He may not be able to claim the body but Torchwood can." Jack's loud, authoritative voice filled the room.

"Jack?" Ianto lifted a tentative hand to his arm which was immediately shrugged off.

"As of this moment, Torchwood is in charge of this investigation. Pack up all the personal effects. We'll be taking them with us. Someone will be by later today to collect the body and copies of all reports."

The air in the room became tense and thick, the earlier animosity between the two erupted anew. The combatants were much like snarling dogs, each determined to protect its territory by any means necessary.

"And just how the hell is this a matter for Torchwood? There's no piles of unexplained dust. No weird lights. Nothing at all that's inexplicable. No reason to call in Team X-Files. Just an old man who killed himself."

Jack became deadly calm, almost impassive, which Ianto knew meant he was at his most dangerous. The Captain strode up to the PC, using his superior height to tower over the man. Andy, however, was not cowered. He glared up, refusing to retreat even a centimeter.

"As I said, this is a Torchwood matter now. You will hand over all the personal effects, the body, and all relevant reports."

Andy's chin lifted in defiance, his body tensed even more and his fist tightened around the forgotten biro in his hand, snapping the thin plastic in half. "And if I refuse?"

"Oh, you really don't want to do that." Jack flashed him a smile that was about as charming and alluring as a cobra about to strike. "If you refuse, I'll make a very quick and very succinct call to your superior. You'll be reassigned so far down that sunlight will become a distant memory and in the end, I'll _still_ get that body. It's your choice."

Cheeks cherry red with fury, Andy released several harsh breaths before hurling the broken biro at one of the walls. "Bloody Torchwood! So I'm just supposed to step aside and let you take over my investigation?"

"No." Jack's smile became almost sympathic. "You'll continue your investigation and we'll conduct our own. Ianto will be your liaison. Let him know when you find anything and I'll make certain he copies you on anything we discover."

"It's not like you're giving me an actual choice here."

Jack's cobra-like smile returned. "There's always a choice. It's just whether or not you want the resulting consequences."

Five minutes later, Ianto and Jack were making their way to the car, each holding a small cardboard file box in their hands. Atop Ianto's box sat the Fedora. No words were exchanged while the boot was opened and the boxes safely stowed inside.

"You okay?"

The voice was quiet and compassionate. Ianto knew if he looked at him, he would find Jack's eyes swimming with concern and sympathy. Instead, he kept his attention on the red hat, the last tangible evidence of Tony's life.

"Yeah, I … It's just a bit of a shock." He finally ripped his eyes away from the hat. "Jack, why did you …?"

He smiled but it was touched with sadness. "Because he was your friend and because you're convinced he didn't kill himself. This way you can take a few days to snoop around and if you find any evidence proving otherwise, we can pass it along to the police." There was the tiniest hesitation before he lifted a reassuring hand to Ianto's jaw, idly allowing his thumb to caress the cheekbone. "Maybe you'll get lucky and track down a family member. If not, you'll at least be able to arrange a proper funeral for him."

For once Ianto didn't care they were in public. He leaned forward, lightly pressing their lips together. "Thank you."

Through the glass of the window, industrial morphed into suburban. Delivery lorries changing to family cars. Mothers pushing trams replaced businessmen speaking on mobiles. Streets whizzed past, interconnecting, splintering, merging, diverting, looping. _Much like life. Choices faced or forced by circumstance. To go right or straight ahead? Rush through the fast lane or loll about on the scenic route? Does it really matter? Whichever is chosen, the final destination is always a dead-end._

He had an almost uncomfortable acceptance of his inevitable mortality. Whereas others planned for retirement or contemplated what life would hold for them in five years time, Ianto had difficulty buying tickets for a special event one month in advance. Working for Torchwood, he might not be around to use them.

"Stop it."

Jack's voice broke through, preventing his descent into deeper morbidity.

"I know that look and I know what you're thinking. Stop it right now. No more thoughts today of your death or how long or short your life may be. You're alive, here and now, and that's all that matters."

It amused him, somewhat disturbingly, how often and how fervently Jack would lecture him about grasping life with both hands. The man who was destined to unending life yet yearned desperately for the long sleep of death, continually telling him that life was too precious to obsess about its finality. _Hypocrite._

"Come on. You look like you could use a drink."

"We really should be getting back to the Hub." Despite the objection, Ianto undid his seatbelt and exited the vehicle. The last thing he wanted was to return to work. While he could have found comfort in losing himself in his duties, he simply wasn't ready to face Gwen's often-whelming humanity, Tosh's awkward attempts at sympathy, or Owen for any reason at all. No doubt Gwen was currently pacing to and fro near the entrance, anxiously awaiting their return while Tosh kept an eye for them on the CCTV. It wasn't that he disliked them or that he didn't appreciate their efforts, but he was a private person. It was his preference to begin the healing process alone before reaching out to others. Gwen, especially, would continually push him to talk about his feelings and he just wasn't ready to do that yet, at least not with her.

He followed Jack into the building, settling at an isolated booth while Jack sorted the drinks. The pub was just the sort of place he despised. Newness pretending to be old. A location yearning to be trendy while giving all appearances that that was the last thing it wanted to be. Ianto preferred truly old establishments. Scarred tables, sooty walls, dust building in crevices and cracks. There was a comfort in old pubs. The knowledge that he could be standing in the same spot that someone fifty years dead had once stood. That in five years time a bunch of mates would gather around the same table where he sat to share their happiness or commiserate their losses. It was a tiny way that life remained connected. The faces may change, the names might be different but there was a persistence and in a way, he would continue long after he was gone because someday, after he was dead, someone might sit in this exact spot, reflecting on the very same thing.

"Do you ever stop thinking?"

Ianto shrugged, looking at the proffered glass with a wrinkled nose. Whiskey wasn't his drink of choice. He preferred the mellow tang of dark ale but couldn't deny needing the sharpness of a stiffer drink at that particular moment. Swallowing with a single gulp, his eyes watered as the burn hit his tongue, slithered down his throat and settled in his stomach. The heat spread, chasing away the coldness and emptiness that had settled throughout him.

Jack slid a tall ale towards him and then wrapped a hand round his glass of water. "Tell me about him."

"I don't know where to start."

He smiled. A rare and precious lift of lips, reserved strictly for Ianto and only at times of greatest intimacy. "The beginning is usually a good place."

Ianto leaned back, pulling his ale towards him. "I met him a little over a year ago." He ran a finger along the lip of the glass, intently following the motion with his eyes. "The first time I saw him was the day after Lisa …the day I was put on suspension." Despite his best effort, he found he couldn't keep himself from looking towards Jack.

It took but a moment for the impact of the words to affect the man. A flurry of emotions sped across his face, too quickly forming and retreating to be identified until finally settling into regret and dismay. "It's been a year? It can't be. Ianto, I …" Self-loathing rolled off him in great waves. "You must really hate me for not remembering."

He tried but couldn't keep himself from laughing. "Jack, what day of the week is it?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question." The humor faded away to be replaced with great seriousness.

"It's Thursday," he said uncertainly. There was some murmuring and a ticking off items on his fingers before he spoke again, this time with more confidence. "Thursday."

"You just proved my point. Today's Monday." He took a small sip of the ale, swirling the rich liquid in his mouth before swallowing it down. "I don't hate you for not remembering. In fact, I'm rather glad you didn't. It shows that you've truly forgiven me for my stupidity."

Jack chuckled. "Zealous. Loyal. Dedicated. Those are good words to use but stupid is something I would never associate with you." He leaned forward to wrap one hand around Ianto's. "Still, I am sorry I was so caught up in everything else that I didn't remember."

"Don't be." His voice was sharper than he would have liked. "Look, it's better this way. We've rather avoided the topic and I want to keep it that way. I like what we've got and don't want to muddy things by rehashing the past."

"But …"

"Leave it."

Jack nodded his acquiescence but the glint of steel in his eyes clearly indicated the topic would be readdressed sometime in the near future, whether Ianto wished to or not. In the meantime, he was content to lean back, glass of water clasped loosely in one hand, and let that subject wait for a more opportune moment. "Tell me about him."

A returned nod acknowledged his acceptance of the change in topic as well as the promise of revisiting what would be a painful conversation. Ianto leaned back slightly and took another sip from his ale. "I first saw him the day I was put on suspension. I didn't want to go back to my flat, to be surrounded by all the things Lisa and I had purchased together. To be reminded of the plans we'd made and the hopes we had shared. Work, the only other refuge I had, was denied me. So I just started walking, wandering about with no real destination in mind.

"Eventually I found myself in a park." Ianto lifted his eyes up to Jack's face. "It was so strange. It was like all the color had been leached from the world. Everything was shaded in grays, blacks, and whites, as if her death had stolen the vitality of life. I was sitting on a bench, consumed by grief, not knowing what the future would hold. Not even knowing if I wanted there to be a future."

He unconsciously curled one arm protectively across his stomach as the painful memories began to overtake him. "I felt like I had lost everything. The woman I loved more than life itself. My job. Your trust in me. That there was nothing left." He smiled but it was tinged with sorrow. "And then, when I was at my lowest, a man showed up in the park. He was obviously homeless but it just didn't seem to bother him. He wandered around, digging through the rubbish bins, smiling and tipping his hat to everyone he passed.

"I don't how long I sat there watching but eventually he left the park. As soon as he was gone, I realized that while the rest of the world was still shrouded in blacks and whites, his hat had been the most brilliant red I'd ever seen." He leaned forward, resting one of his hands over Jack's, seeking comfort from the contact. "I went home and crept into bed, hiding myself away from the world under a blanket. I thought I would stay there the rest of eternity but the next morning, and the three following, I crawled out of bed, got dressed and found myself walking to the park.

"I'd pretend to read a newspaper but I was really there to watch that curious man. Because for those brief minutes I would see him, all my problems no longer seemed important. I could forget everything and simply watch him and that bright red hat. Most days I would get there just as he was leaving but one of those mornings he stayed in the park for over an hour. It was such a relief to have that hour, to not have to think of Lisa or how I had destroyed everything with Torchwood."

He looked down at his glass, surprised to find it was now empty. He pushed it to the side, shaking his head at Jack's silent question. "On the sixth day of my suspension, I found myself back at the park. This time, however, the man wasn't anywhere to be seen. I thought I'd missed him and didn't know how I was going to get through the day. Seeing him had become something I clung to.

"The next thing I knew a coffee cup was being held in front of me. I looked up and there he was. This man, who had to root through bins for the things he needed, had spent his precious money to buy me a coffee. As soon as I took the cup, he sat down and said, 'Only through the dark of despair can we truly appreciate the light of joy.'" Ianto reached up to brush away the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "Those were the first words Tony said to me and his last as well."

Jack spoke for the first time since Ianto had begun relating his story. "It sounds like Tony was quite the philosopher."

"He was." Ianto smiled wholeheartedly. "He liked to say that strife was necessary for through it one gained strength, insight, and growth. It took me a long time to understand what he meant but Tony was patient. Without those morning talks, I don't know if I would have made it through the suspension."

A tiny flicker of hurt appeared on Jack's face.

Ianto smiled warmly at him. "You checking up on me each night helped too. But with you, there was too much anger, too much pain. Not to mention how much I despised myself at the time for betraying you as I did. You were too close to what happened and I was still blaming you for not saving her. Your calls and visits helped. Between Tony in the mornings and you in the evenings, I got through it and am a better person because of it."

"Yes, you are," said Jack.

"That wasn't me fishing for compliments."

"I know." Jack grinned. "But you're getting one anyway."

Ianto looked pointedly at his watch and then up at Jack.

"You ready to get out of here?"

"Yep, you have a call with the PM scheduled in a few hours and I know you haven't read the relevant reports yet. The files are already on your desk so no trying to get out of reading them or the phone call. I've got to move Tony's body to the Hub and try to smooth things over with Andy. Must you always antagonize the Police Department? It makes my job that much more difficult. After that, I need to figure out a better containment box for our newest guests. Duct tape and ceiling tiles are not a long term solution."

He missed Jack's indulgent grin as he began to set aside his grief by immersing himself in work. The short drive seemed that much faster due to Ianto's steady listing of all the tasks that needed to be dealt with upon their arrival. He was too caught up in his planning to observe Jack's many eye rolls or the giant Cheshire cat grin.

With a start, he noticed the car had come to a stop just outside his flat. "This isn't the Hub."

"I'm continually amazed by your powers of observation." Jack leaned over and brushed his lips tenderly across Ianto's. "You're taking the rest of the day off. I'll deal with the eight dozen duties you've already spelled out as being terribly crucial." He lifted a quick finger to press against Ianto's mouth just as it opened in protest. "I promise _not_ to mess with the archives. That I will leave for your capable hands to deal with tomorrow."

"Jack, I'm fine and I really do need to go into work. There's a lot to take care of."

His objection was greeted by an understanding smile. "Yes, and today the one thing you will be taking care of is yourself." His face became a bit stern when he added, "Don't make me turn this into an order. You need some time to sort through this, to mourn. Take the day to look through his things, try to find his family, whatever you need to do. Just don't bottle this up and let it fester."

He won the battle by ignoring the protests. While Ianto listed each and every excuse why he was desperately needed at work, Jack took matters into his own hands by removing the boxes with Tony's personal effects from the boot to set them next to the doorway of the flat. Ianto eventually accepted that Jack would not be deterred. Like it or not, he was going to be taking a personal day.

There had been a brief kiss, a promise made to call later that night, and then Jack was gone, leaving Ianto alone with his thoughts and memories. After changing into a comfortable pair of track pants and fixing a robust cup of coffee, he found himself seated at his kitchen table, the contents of the boxes spread in logical categories about him. The clothes and bag were set off to one side, neatly stacked in the corner. On the chair beside him, rested the string, cup, pencil and other various items Tony had scrounged during his daily searching.

Across the surface of the table was spread all the small scraps of paper. Rubbish to most people but Tony had used any available paper to keep a sort of diary. Nothing was dated and some were nothing more than streams of words whose meanings could only be discerned by the writer.

Ianto shifted and positioned the scraps, much like puzzle pieces, trying to work out some sort of timeline. In the exact center of the space was his starting point, two tiny scraps lamenting the suicide of a young man nicknamed "Sticks." That had occurred three weeks ago, the same day Ianto last saw Tony alive. Scattered around that central point were the numerous entries, each one celebrating life in some way. Be it enjoying a beautiful sunset, a good conversation with a friend, a hot meal, or finding a nearly perfect pair of shoelaces. Simple joy recounting simple pleasures.

In contrast sat a stack of five sheets in the far left corner, each more desperate and sad, detailing the rapid progression into depression and hopelessness. Try as he might, Ianto could find no cause, no reason for the disparity. It was almost like a switch had been flipped, changing the man from someone who looked for the good in everything to a person who could find no pleasure in life at all.

He lifted the five sheets, carefully reading each word. It was difficult for the papers were dirty, blurring and smudging the pencil marks. Some words were completely illegible as if the effort to write was painful and exhausting. Several bore the evidence of tears having fallen on their surfaces, further distressing the pencil scrawls.

He pushed himself away from the table in frustration. The man he had known for more than a year contrasted so sharply from his last five diary entries. Nothing was making sense. He poured himself another cup of coffee and wandered into the living room. Carefully setting the mug on the coffee table, he sprawled across the length of the sofa and then tugged the table closer. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind still actively trying to organize all the information from Tony's diary.

Without looking, he reached over to grab his coffee, his hand, instead, hitting the stack of unread newspapers piled atop the coffee table. With a sigh, he pushed himself up slightly, resting his back against the armrest and began reading through the backlog of news. It was a trick he often utilized. Distract himself with a mundane task and eventually a solution to the problem would often appear without any effort.

He idly skimmed through the news items, nothing intriguing him enough to want to read any particular article in depth. He was about to set the paper aside, when a tiny blurb caught his eyes. _Homeless man commits suicide in Splott. Police are seeking witnesses._ A quick glance at the paper's date showed that the article was five days old.

Ianto sat up and rushed to the kitchen. With a sweep of his hand, he pushed the tiny scraps of Tony's diary to the side and set up his laptop. While waiting for the computer to boot up, he impatiently paced the floor. _That many suicides in less than a month has to be statistically significant. 'Sticks.' Tony. The man in Splott._

With a jolt, he stopped mid-pace. Carefully rooting through all Tony's diary entries, he found the two he had initially thought concerned the suicide of the young teen. The more he read the two entries, the more he become convinced that Tony had recorded his thoughts about a second suicide.

_So that makes possibly four in a three week period. What else? There's got to be something more._ He began pacing again. _The other John Doe at the morgue this morning. Was that a suicide too?_

He sat down at the computer and quickly hacked into the police database, completely immersed in his research.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N - My apologies for the four years since I last updated this story. It started with a hard drive failure that wiped out the next five chapters that were ready to go. Followed by a Nor'easter that flooded my apartment with 18 inches of water - costing me all the hand written notes I had for the story along with everything I owned. Same day my apartment flooded, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. And then... And then... And then... Well, it hasn't been the best couple of years. Things are getting better and this is a story I _must_tell for a variety of reasons. For those you have waited patiently for me to continue, thank you so much. For those who are just discovering it, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

The storm building in the skies above seemed docile compared to the storm brewing on the Captain's face. Ignoring the few sightseers braving the gloomy day, he stalked towards the lone tourist office, fury adding speed to his lengthy stride. For five days, he'd been patient, waiting in silence to give Ianto space and time to come to terms with his friend's death. Instead, the young man had become obsessed.

There had been no progress made on tracking down Tony's family. From what Jack could tell, Ianto hadn't even started looking for them nor had any funeral arrangements been made. Instead, he had spent every moment hacking into various department databases, compiling statistics, or harassing assorted agencies for more detailed information. Sleeping only when he could no longer force his eyes to remain open and then for just an hour or two. Food was consumed if it mysteriously appeared nearby, the need to eat completely forgotten if it did not.

The first day he had skillfully juggled his duties at Torchwood with his desire to know, to understand. Coffee had been delivered on a regular schedule, albeit quickly, with no lingering for a quiet word or two. Needed files and artefacts were delivered almost before their need was known. Supplies had been stocked, rather hastily and a bit haphazardly but stocked nonetheless. As the time ticked away, his focus on the workings of Torchwood diminished until the Hub became, not the place he held an essential role in protecting the human race from alien incursions, but rather, it became the location where he had the necessary resources for his research.

These days Ianto could be found at any given time in one of two places. No longer did the team meet in the conference room for a friendly meal or to discuss cases. Instead, it was now Ianto's exclusive domain, the long table obscured with files, printouts, scattered notes, and a large map, its surface marked with clusters of colored dots. An assortment of crime scene photos hung across the walls, a morbid wallpaper filled with dead eyes staring into the room. During the evenings, he skulked there, reading and rereading all of his findings, staring at the crime photos, or gazing for long hours at the dot-covered map, fingers tracing some pattern only he could perceive. While lost in his attempts to discover some insight into their meaning, he was completely unaware Jack would stand in the doorway, watching with growing concern.

Daytime hours were confined to the claustrophobic walls of the tourist office, away from the apprehensive gazes of Gwen and Tosh and the annoyed mutterings of Owen. Every attempt by Gwen or Jack to interrupt, to draw him away from his single-minded investigation was met with icy annoyance for the disruption. When questioned about his research, he would only give vague replies. _I don't know yet but I'll figure it out. There's something strange. The numbers don't add up._ He'd then turn back to the computer, politely, but efficiently, dismissing them and the unwanted interruptions.

Jack had been torn between allowing Ianto to deal with his grief by losing himself in his project, hoping he'd eventually work it out of his system or confronting the young man, forcing him to accept the unpleasant truth that his friend had become an unfortunate statistic. In the end, Jack had decided to simply wait unless conditions required him to act. In the gloomy, pre-dawn hours of the fifth day, the circumstances for action had finally arrived.

Not slowing his furious stride, he violently threw open the door to the tourist office, startling Ianto from his hunched position over the computer. With two strides, he crossed to the counter, grabbing the earpiece sitting atop a pile of printed reports.

"Standard operating procedures require all employees to wear these whenever an agent is in the field." Jack held the earpiece in front of Ianto's wide eyes. "So why in the hell aren't you?"

"I was." He tried to take it but Jack snatched his hand back. "Once the artefact was safely retrieved and you were heading back, the joking and chattering became distracting so I took it off. It's not like I was actually needed."

Jack's eyes glinted dangerously. "Is that so? Well, if you had been wearing it, you would have heard about the weevil sighting that was called in just as we were heading back. You would have been available to help track it and coordinate our movements. You also would have heard that the canisters of weevil spray were completely depleted because _someone_ failed to restock the SUV properly after our last field mission."

Even in the dim light, Jack could see Ianto's face grow pale as the words hung in the air.

"Were you able to capture it?" he finally stammered.

"Eventually," came the impassive reply with no indication of just how harrowing the experience had been. Jack carefully studied him with narrowed eyes, assessing whether the young man had finally realized how his obsession was affecting the work of Torchwood. "Gwen's getting it settled in the vaults as we speak."

"Well then, everything worked out all right." He began to turn back towards his computer, clearly dismissing Jack. "I'll see to the SUV as soon as I've finished here."

Jack knew it was cruel, knew that he probably shouldn't but he tended to act first and make amends afterward. Ianto had forgotten his primary responsibility was to Torchwood and not to his misguided endeavor to find some rationale for his friend's suicide. Not to mention there had been no time for _them_ the past few days_._ No witty exchanges. No flirting. And, especially, no wild nights of passion, lust, and driving need to touch and be touched. It had to end and only an extreme action would work with the mulish man. Giving Ianto a piercing look, Jack reached up and tapped his comm. "Owen, is Toshiko going to make it?"

The loud thud of a chair toppling over and the frenzied scramble as Ianto pounded on the button to open the hidden door leading to the Hub drowned out Owen's perplexed reply. As Ianto tore through the opening door, Jack allowed himself just one brief second for a self-satisfied smirk to alight his face before hiding behind a stern mask. _With any luck, this foolishness is finally over. He'll be more focused on Torchwood and on us now._ He tossed Ianto's comm into the air, deftly catching and pocketing it in one smooth motion. With an easy stride, he headed down the long hallway towards the lift.

He resisted the urge to whistle indolently as he made his way from the lift to the landing overlooking the medical bay. Ianto was already there, chest heaving deeply in barely settling panicked breath. His eyes were full of bewilderment as he stared downward. Looking up from the bay were two sets of equally bewildered eyes.

Jack lightly leaned his hands on the railing. "Doing okay, Toshiko?"

She glanced down at the slight scratch on her upper arm. "I've had worse from my aunt's cat. I don't know why you insisted Owen look at it."

"Because I'm an excellent doctor," Owen quipped. "And because there's countless nasty bugs that can be caught from weevil claws." He swiped a cotton pad across the scratch, eliciting a slight hiss from the tiny woman. "Even from a wound miniscule as this one."

He carelessly tossed the pad over his shoulder where it fell onto the floor with a soft splat before turning to rummage through a nearby drawer. He slammed it closed before opening another. "Where the hell are they?" After fruitlessly rooting through a third drawer, he raised irate eyes towards Ianto. "Since you've finally decided to take a break from slacking off, go get some sticking plasters from storage. I'm completely out here. Also, some saline solution, specimen bottles, gauze." He glanced around at the various trays scattered about the area. "In fact, just about everything needs restocking so hop to it."

"It's fine," Tosh interjected softly. "I don't need a plaster."

In a tone that suggested Owen was merely mumbling to himself but leaving little doubt that his intended victim was the suit-encased man watching from above, he muttered, "Good thing this wasn't an actual emergency. I would have spent more time dashing to storage to get what I needed than treating the injury."

Unable to meet Tosh's compassionate gaze, Owen's belligerent glare, or Jack's firm but understanding stare, Ianto looked around the medical bay, quickly noting the inexcusable lack of supplies and the mounds of detritus littering the area. A glance back at the central area of the Hub revealed it wasn't in any better shape. Stacks of artefacts, folders, gadgets, photos, tools, and cables covered every surface, overflowing down into semi-neat piles on the walkways. Pushed to one side of the cluttered work space was a commandeered trolley loaded with heavier equipment. Ianto reached over, grabbing one of the bin liners he kept stashed nearby and began heading down the steps.

"Restock the SUV first. After that, you can work on replenishing whatever is needed in here. In the meantime, Owen can clean up _his_ work space." Jack's tone left little room for debate. "Oh, and you'll need this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out Ianto's comm.

Ignoring, for the moment, the medic's irritated grumbles, Jack watched as Ianto placed the bin liner over the railing, took the proffered earpiece, and then headed off to sort out the SUV's supplies. At first glance, Ianto would have appeared to be his usual calm, collected self but Jack could tell from the tension of his stride and the miniscule hunch of his shoulders that the young man was upset.

This was what he hated about having to keep his private life separate from his responsibility as Torchwood's leader. If not for Torchwood, he would be herding Ianto into a private location where he would spend equal time telling outrageous stories and jokes in the hope of eliciting a smile or laugh and quietly reassuring the young man that everything was all right, that all was forgiven. Of course, if Jack had his way, which he inevitably did, the session would end with sweat-slicked bodies in which conversation reduced to moans and an occasional hiss of "Oh, God!"

But Torchwood was an unforgiving taskmaster. Ianto needed the reprimand, mild though it was, and Jack needed to allow him the time to think about just how much his obsession had impacted the daily workings of the organization. _I'll make this up to him tonight. A bottle of champagne, some light flirtation, and then let nature take its course. Everything will be back to what it should be. Him, Torchwood, and us._

With an easy smile, he looked down at Tosh. "Now that we know you aren't mortally wounded, would you mind taking a look at our newest acquisition? I think it's nothing more than a soap dispenser but I'd like your expert opinion."

"Sure." She slide off the table and grabbed her jacket. With a frown, she fingered the ripped sleeve. "I just bought this yesterday." She tossed the ruined garment at Owen. "Go ahead and bag that with the rest of the rubbish," she said with a slightly frosty tone. Despite her feelings for the testy medic, she wasn't about to hide her irritation over how he had treated Ianto. She flashed Jack a cheery smile as she passed by, eagerness to delve into the latest mysterious technology giving a bounce to her gait.

Once she was out of earshot, Jack cleared his throat, gaining the attention of Owen who was angrily shoving trash into the bin liner. "I believe there's a common saying involving the words stones and glass houses."

"Eh?"

"Next time you accuse Ianto of slacking off, make sure your own work is up to date. You're two weeks behind on your reports. I expect _all_ of them on my desk before the end of the day." For just a brief moment, Owen reminded him of a Bantam rooster, puffed up with indignation and raring for a fight.

Arms crossed belligerently, Owen stared up at Jack, carefully assessing just how far he could push. Quickly realizing there was little chance of weaseling out of it, Owen gave a negligent shrug as he pulled off his latex gloves, tossing them on a nearby tray. "Yeah, fine. Reports it is. This cleanup bollocks is more in Ianto's line anyway."

"Don't think you're getting off that easy. Clean up this mess first then do the reports." He turned away, finally giving into the impulse to whistle a jaunty tune, knowing it would send the medic's blood pressure to explosive levels. Normally he would have stuck around to observe Owen's tantrum. They were often quite amusing but he had his own list of duties to complete, not to mention plans to make for the evening.

Gingerly stepping through the cluttered path to his office, he couldn't help but grin at the sight of Tosh. She was a beautiful woman at any given moment but when some bit of alien tech, no matter how mundane, intrigued her, her face took on a luminous quality that would have inspired Rembrandt. Eyes bright with enthrallment, she scarcely noted his passing or Gwen's exhausted arrival.

"You okay?" Jack gently steered Gwen into his office.

She wiped the sweat from her brow as she settled into one of the chairs. "Yeah. That's one mean weevil, though."

"They're all mean."

"Some more than others. This one has the rest of the weevils cowering in the corners of their cells." She barely stifled a yawn as she stood and stretched out tired muscles. "I'm going to nip out for a coffee. I'll need one if I hope to stay awake the rest of the morning. Should I grab one for you while I'm out?"

"No need," he said with a smug grin. "I expect that in about twenty minutes each of us will have a mug of Ianto's delectable caffeine-charged concoctions appearing on our desks."

Gwen let out a low groan. "Don't tease. You know full well he's not going to pull himself away from whatever he's doing in the tourist office long enough to brew us coffee, no matter how desperate we are for some."

"No teasing. As soon as he's finished restocking the SUV, I'm sure he'll be feeding our caffeine addictions. This obsession he's had with his friend's death is over so it's back to business as usual."

"Oh, Jack, that's wonderful!" Ever demonstrative, Gwen quickly closed the distance between them and wrapped him in a strong hug. Keeping her arms around his neck, she pulled back and looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "I don't know what you did but I'm glad. I've been so worried about him."

Jack carefully extracted himself from her arms. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the press of a beautiful woman against his body, especially if that woman was the oh-so-intriguing Gwen, but she had Rhys and he had Ianto. Even if it weren't for the often mystifying rules of 21st century relationships, Gwen was not someone he would ever actively pursue or even allow himself to be pursued by.

Everyone needed to yearn for something unobtainable, something believed to be flawless that was always just out of reach. Jack felt himself lucky because he had two somethings. The Doctor, the pinnacle of the just out of reach category, ever flitting in and out of his life, slightly tarnished now into 'not quite perfect' following the events of their recent journey. It still smarted, he had to admit, to be considered "wrong" by the one person he truly, and unequivocally, admired. And yet, despite everything, he knew that should the Time Lord pop up saying he needed help, Jack wouldn't hesitate to follow, even if it brought him once again to the end of the universe.

Gwen, on the other hand, remained untarnished and just as unobtainable in Jack's eyes. Her drive, her stubbornness, the passion she displayed when insisting Torchwood go beyond merely protecting mankind and actually help were all qualities he respected. He knew, however, the admiration would quickly turn to disdain and irritation should he ever remove her from the pedestal he'd placed her on. It was the same with lovers. The nervous habit you found so endearing at the start of a relationship would eventually become the one thing that would set your teeth grinding in frustration. It was best for all that Gwen forever remain an unresolved, unrequited yearning.

Besides, there was Ianto. Gwen might be the heart of Torchwood but Ianto was the grounding force. Was _his_ grounding force. Capable, deft, analytical, with more common sense in his little finger than the rest of the Torchwood team combined. Not to mention that sharp wit that could delight and bite with equal measure. Jack could, and did, flirt shamelessly, ogled indiscriminately, even fondled a time or two, but it was Ianto he turned to, time and again, to hold at bay the demons of regret, self-loathing, and fear.

Jack turned his full attention to Gwen. "Think you could organize some of this into logical categories to make it easier for him to get it all put away?" he said with a sweep of his hand to indicate the chaotic piles of files, artefacts, and whatnots littered throughout the central Hub.

She smiled. "Logical or Ianto-logical?"

Jack laughed, full and hearty that did much to release his tension from the past several days. "Just logical. I doubt any of us could ever get a handle on Ianto-logical." His face became serious, though still held on to some of his mirth. "Don't make a big fuss over him when you see him. It'll just make him uncomfortable."

"Gotcha. No fuss. No hugs. I'll even do my best to contain my squeals of delight at getting a decent cup of coffee." She grabbed a mound of files from his desk before heading to the door, leaving Jack to deal with his overflowing in-box.

* * *

Five hours, seventeen phone calls, an overwhelming number of signatures signed on various reports, and a slightly rumbling stomach later, Jack was wandering through the catacombs that were the Torchwood archives. Ianto's industry had been evident in the Hub throughout the morning with regular deliveries of coffee, frequent rounds to clear the backlog of equipment, files, and artefacts, and the careful restocking of supplies. Yet, he had seemed to be ghosting through the tasks, much as he had done when he'd first returned from his suspension. Silent entrances and speedy withdrawals as if uncertain what his reception would be. Even his exchanges with Jack had been tentative, uncertainty about his standing with Torchwood spilling over into his relationship with Jack. That was all going to change. If Jack could forgive him the debacle with the cyberwoman and the betrayal leading to Abaddon's release, a few days distraction from his duties, and from him, was not even noteworthy and certainly not equal to the remorse the man was obviously suffering.

Finally locating the room in which Ianto had secreted himself, Jack leaned languidly against the door jam, relishing the scene presented him. Ianto's suit jacket had been relegated to hanging over a chair back, carefully and precisely positioned to prevent wrinkles. With his shirt sleeves rolled up and waistcoat unbuttoned, he was bent over, fabric stretching enticingly, as he wrestled an awkwardly shaped artefact onto a lower shelf.

Words of contrition and absolution had never been part of Jack and Ianto's routine. They had easily said the words "I'm sorry" and "I forgive you" to others but never to each other. As with many other unspoken sentiments, the two men preferred to utilize a complex dance of behaviors and gestures to disguise true intentions, always weaving in and out, waltzing around apologies, performing elaborate tangos of forgiveness. While taking in the view, Jack struggled to decide upon the exact opening necessary to put the young man at ease. As usual, Ianto provided the perfect opportunity.

"Do you need something, sir, or did you just decide to come down here to stare at my arse?" While the words were playful, his tone was slightly cautious.

"No, I'm good. Had a few minutes free so I decided to take your advice and find myself a hobby."

Ianto spared a few moments to glance over his shoulder. "And how is staring at my arse considered a hobby?"

Grinning at the affection-tinged sarcasm, Jack pushed away from the door jam and strolled a few steps into the room. "It's not, but, as I understand, art appreciation _is_ a hobby and one that I am very much enjoying." He eyed Ianto with a salacious grin.

"So my arse is art?" Ianto stood, carefully brushing dust from his knees before turning and gracing Jack with a disapproving frown.

Jack strode up, boxing him in, and then firmly groped the object under discussion. "Oh, yes. Covered, as it is now, your arse is art, devilishly hinting at how perky and firm the cheeks are. But naked, with the paleness of the skin and that delightful dimple above your left cheek, your arse is a masterpiece, worthy of display in the Louvre."

"If you ever describe any part of me as perky again, there will be repercussions, Harkness. Serious repercussions," Ianto said sternly. The threat was utterly ruined when his hands reached round to grope Jack with equal measure.

Neither could be certain who actually initiated the kiss but both men took full advantage of it. Lips ghosted before pressing and then opening. Teeth nibbled and scraped delightfully sensitive skin before tongues assaulted and dueled. Breath became harsh pants as fingers brushed, teased, tantalized, bringing to surface pent-up lust. Breaking apart almost painfully, they stood for a moment, gently resting foreheads together as their breathing slowed.

"You did it to me again." Jack pulled back, a playful scowl thrown at the man in his arms. "I came down here with the completely innocent intention of dragging you to lunch with us and you seduce me into debauchery."

Jack greeted Ianto's hearty laugh with a grin.

"You have never, in your life, been completely innocent, Jack, nor do you need any enticement to delve into debauchery." With an impressive maneuver, Ianto twisted out of Jack's arms and moved to a nearby trolley brimming with artefacts.

"Grab your jacket. It's long past lunch time and the rest of the team is getting restless."

Ianto didn't even glance up from inputting data into his PDA when he said, "Just bring me back something. A sandwich, double meat of course, and a side of something with heart attack inducing cholesterol."

"You should eat more vegetables."

"So you keep saying."

Jack sidled over and wrapped his arms around the younger man's waist. He took a quick nuzzle at his neck before placing his chin on Ianto's shoulder. "Come with us. This can wait and you need a break anyway."

"I'll get more done without you lot underfoot." He gave Jack a grave look. "The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can go home. It's been too long since I've seen my flat, much less slept in my bed."

Jack couldn't hold off the clench of disappointment as he stepped away from Ianto. "That's true, I suppose. Well, I should leave you to it so you can get that early night." There was a distinct lack of his usual enthusiasm as he strolled to the doorway. It was only the sound of a muffled chuckle that caused him to look back.

Ianto was leaning comfortably against some shelving, mirth brightening his face and his eyes glinting with devilish amusement. "I was thinking we could grab some take-away, head back to mine and explore possible consequences should you ever be daft enough to refer to me as perky again."

"I'd like that," Jack said with an answering grin. "Or we could start exploring those consequences right now." As if in response, Jack's stomach rumbled loudly.

Ianto laughed heartily as he looked disgustedly at his stomach. "How about we stick to the plan of you going to lunch with the others while I finish up in here? Then, world-ending catastrophes permitting, we can get out of here at a decent hour." The look he threw at Jack was part playful, part serious, and utterly enticing.

The early evening didn't happen, at least not in the way Jack and Ianto had hoped it would go. While the team had been at lunch, Ianto had used the time productively. The restocking of the medical bay and SUV had been completed, the backlog of artifacts and records had been transferred to the archives for later filing, and he had even had time to brew an especial blend of coffee, a cup of which was sitting on each team member's respective desk.

With the remaining few moments before the team's return, Ianto retreated to his computer in the kitchenette area to hack into the morgue and police databases. As he flagged several suspicious deaths for further investigation, he began a mental list.

_Something is responsible for the rise in suicides and it's more than I can handle on my own. Tosh can probably come up with a mathematical formula to predict future incidents based on the possible patterns I think I've established. Maybe program the CCTV networks to scan for unusual activity in the areas with the highest concentration of suicides. Interviewing the families and friends of the victims might yield critical information. Gwen would be excellent at that. Autopsies of all the victims are essential. We need to know what's causing it. If it's a chemical or perhaps they are inhaling some sort of gas? Doubtful that an alien device is responsible. There would be more victims given the broad areas affected._

Further thought was postponed as the cog door rolled back and the team tumbled through the entryway. Their spirits were high, with joking and laughter still ringing as they settled at their desks. Ianto watched as Jack wandered into his office, appearing mere seconds later with his blue and white striped mug in one hand and holding a bag with what had to be Ianto's meal in the other.

Ianto took a few seconds to save his latest findings on the inexplicable rise in suicides to the Torchwood computers and then forwarded the details to his personal laptop before joining Jack in his office. Ianto sat, eating his sandwich with small, dainty bites as Jack continued in his attempt to reduce the number of files in his inbox. The atmosphere was tensionless, the silence comfortable as their formally relaxed relationship reestablished itself through routine. Ianto was only half finished his sandwich when Owen stomped in and dropped a large number of folders on Jack's desk.

"All reports complete as ordered." Owen scowled at the both of them. "Now, if there's no other menial tasks you'd like me to waste my time on, I'm going to get back to work that matters - like trying to figure out how to analyze the ooze from the centipede-moth creatures we caught last week."

Jack fingered through the stack of folders splayed across the surface of his desk. "Nope. This is good. Go back to your little amusements now that you've caught up on your real work." Jack only egged Owen on because sometimes he needed to be reminded that his job was not solely about research. The truth about Owen, as Jack was fully aware, was that the medic had an insatiable need to analyze all the alien life-forms that Torchwood encountered. Just as Tosh was never satisfied until she had scrutinized every component of an alien device, Owen couldn't rest until he knew the _whys_ of the various organics - why Doonians had purple blood, or why the Te Jairs had five genders. The irascible medic was simply irascible most of the time because the writing up of the 'whys' took him away from unraveling the mysterious of the next one.

After Owen left with a parting scowl, Jack fingered through the files. "Well, it looks like he actually did write up _every_ report this time. Usually he tries to get away with skipping four or five."

Ianto set down his sandwich and looked with interest at the pile of folders. "By chance, is Tony's report in there?"

Jack began flipping over the files, one by one. Near the bottom of the stack, he came to one which was incredibly thin compared to the other bulging ones. "Yep. Here it is." As he handed it over, Jack tried to pour every ounce of sympathy, every scrap of concern into the look he gave the young man. He knew, as difficult as the last few days had been for him, reading this report would likely be the most painful yet. He turned towards his computer, giving the illusion he was offering some privacy to Ianto, but covertly he watched the Welshman lift out the single piece of paper and begin to read the findings.

He expected a multitude of reactions - grief, pain, even an emotionless stare but rage? That he had not anticipated. The fury rolling off Ianto was almost its own entity in the confined space and when he exploded from his chair to storm down to the medical bay, Jack could only sit in stunned silence. It wasn't until he heard Ianto's livid roar drifting from below that he started moving.

"What the hell is this?"

Jack stopped at the landing above the medical bay to find Ianto clenching Owen's arm in one hand and flourishing the report in the man's face with the other. Gwen and Tosh crept over to join him in staring down at the two men.

"Even a simpleton as you can see it's a cause of death report."

Ianto heaved Owen back into one of the shelving units, jostling the neatly stacked supplies and causing several beakers to fall, scattering broken shards over the hard flooring. "Like hell it is! There's no blood work. No tests of any sort. There's no indication you did an actual autopsy. Did you even bother to look at his body?"

Owen pushed himself away from the shelving and angrily positioned himself mere inches from Ianto. "Why should I waste time with doing an autopsy when the morgue had already done one? I read their reports, reviewed their conclusions. The evidence leaves no doubt of what happened. A suicide note, found dangling from a tree in a park for all to see, and the bruising around the neck clearly indicated death by hanging. You just don't want to admit your friend was a nutter who offed himself!"

No one, probably not even Ianto himself, could have predicted the reaction Owen's tirade brought about. Before anyone could react, Ianto's powerful arm swung, striking Owen hard across the left cheek. The second punch occurred before the medic hit the ground. The third clout caught him solidly in the stomach. The fourth swing, which would have landed on Owen's right eye, never made its target. Jack had leapt down the stairs and grabbed Ianto's arm firmly in his own but that didn't stop the irate Welshman. Ianto continued to struggle against the constraining hold until Jack had no choice but to body slam him onto the med bay steps. In the meantime, the two women had scrambled to help a wheezing Owen to his feet, firmly holding him against the wall so he couldn't attack Ianto in return.

"Enough!" Jack pulled himself off Ianto but kept himself ready to restrain the infuriated man again if necessary. "Just what the hell is going on?"

"Don't look at me!" Owen bellowed, ineffectively trying to appear as if he wasn't in considerable pain. "I can't help it if the tea boy won't accept the truth!" Turning his scowl to Ianto, he snarled, "All street people are nutters, or drunks, or drug addicted fools. Most of them are all three. Your friend was no exception. The fact is your friend was just a crazy old guy who did everyone a favor by killing himself!"

At this Ianto launched himself once again at Owen. Blind with rage, he lashed out, unaware of his surroundings, ignorant of where his fists were falling. All that consumed him was getting his hands on the man who was insulting the memory of his cherished friend. It was only when his fist crashed into Jack's jaw that any sort of awareness returned to him. He looked down at his lover sprawled on the ground, shock and trepidation cooling his emotions instantly.

For several heartbeats, everyone just stared, not quite believing what had just occurred. When Ianto stepped forward, offering a helping hand to Jack, he was stunned when the response was a hard shove back. It seemed that Jack had absorbed all his anger and intensified it tenfold.

"THIS ENDS NOW!" With blue eyes flashing, Jack advanced on Ianto. "I have put up with this nonsense in the vain hope you'd work it out of your system but no more. This ends and it ends now! Do you understand me?"

"But Jack ..."

"No buts! I want this over and done with."

Ianto held out an imploring hand. "If you'd just listen ..."

But Jack was in no mood to listen and was certainly in no mood to have his order countered by Ianto's appeal. He harshly turned his back on the young man. "Tosh! Delete every single file from the computers that has anything at all to do with these 'so called' string of suicides."

Tosh, looking very much like a small innocent creature caught between a hungry lion and an equally ferocious bear, stood stock still, simply staring at Jack with nervousness. It was only when Jack yelled, "Now, Tosh!" that she began to meekly move towards her computers. And though she gave Ianto an empathetic glance as she passed him, she couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eyes. "And don't forget to delete everything off his personal computer too."

"Jack. Please just listen to me. Don't do this." Ianto's pleas continued to fall on deaf ears.

Gwen was the next to earn Jack's attention. "Gather up every scrap of paper, every print-out, each and every photo from the conference room and the tourist office and burn the whole lot in the incinerator. I want everything gone within the hour."

"Jack, just take a moment to think about this. There's no need to go to these extremes." Gwen agreed that Ianto had taken things too far but she didn't want to see him hurt anymore than he was, nor did she want to see their relationship damaged, or possibly destroyed, by Jack's impulsive orders.

"Just do it, Gwen."

Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she slowing stomped up the steps to obey his orders.

By this time Ianto realized that any further pleading would be useless and he watched, with sorrow and growing resentment, as Jack then turned to Owen. "Contact a mortuary and arrange for a burial. You know which ones we have accounts with. I want that body out of here tonight."

"Yeah, fine. I'll get right on it."

With that, Owen slowly limped up the stairs, one hand wrapped around his aching side, leaving the two antagonists staring at each other in the disheveled space. Jack, unbending and inflexible in this matter, simply watched as a myriad of expressions ghosted over Ianto's face. Disbelief, shock, sorrow, anger, regret, resentment all made their presence known on the young man's features and then they all melted away to be replaced by an icy granite of indifference. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I need to get some supplies to clear away this mess." His tone was mostly unemotional, only slightly tinged with a bit of coldness. He didn't even wait to see Jack's resolute nod of agreement.

Four days had passed. Four days of chilly, unbending, indifferent exchanges between the two men. They interacted only when necessary, and then only with the most formal, impersonal, precise wording possible. Ianto was scrupulous about seeing to his duties. Everything was exactly as it should be but all the joy, even the pride, he had taken in his work was absent. He did what was required, and did it perfectly, but always with that ever present icy scorn in his manner. And Jack was no better. His eyes flashed constantly with unabated fury. Orders were snarled in all directions and the slamming of his office door was an all too recurring sound.

The atmosphere of the Hub had, in the past few days, become unbearably oppressive. Gwen, Tosh, even Owen were continually affected by the continuing clash between the two men. There was no idle chatter. Joking and hilarity were definitely off the table. Each focused on whatever task presented itself with undivided attention, apprehensive that Jack's continued seething or Ianto's stoic coldness would find a new focus in one of them.

When Jack exited his office at the end of the fourth day of the standoff, barking out, "You can go," Owen, Tosh, and Gwen wasted not one second before bolting through the door. In contrast, Ianto slowly and concisely packed his belongings. He walked to the exit with as icy a stride as his manner had been the past days, ignoring completely the man who glared at him across the room.

* * *

As soon as the cog door rolled back into place following Ianto's exit, Jack's rigid stance slumped before he explosively struck the nearby brick wall with a closed fist. Uncaring of the torn skin, he entered his office and scurried down the ladder to his private quarters. _Damn it! Damn, damn, damn. I hate this!_ He began pacing as best as he could in the extraordinarily minuscule space. _I was right, wasn't I? Of course I was. Ianto was taking things too far. I had to stop it. _Jack sat dejectedly on the cot. _But maybe I could have handled it differently._ He scrubbed at his face with both hands before blindly staring into space. _What does it matter? I can't go back and change things. I'm not even sure if I would. Ianto's actions were inexcusable. _He stood and punched at one of the walls. _Not that my behavior was any better. I acted like a complete lout. I should have been more understanding, more controlled. Not let my bloody temper get out of hand. And now it's all destroyed._ Jack easily admitted to himself that he wasn't referring to the destruction of Ianto's research. _He'll never forgive me and why should he? All I bring him is despair and disappointment._

Jack threw himself across the cot, hoping to lose himself in the oblivion of sleep. But sleep proved to be as elusive as the solution to his current problem was. He tossed. He turned. He punched the thin pillow several times to make it more comfortable but nothing could stop the rolling thoughts in his brain. He then tried remembering how he used to spend the hours of his downtime before Ianto had started filling them. His mind came up blank, as if Ianto had been with him hundreds of years leaving only vague recollections of previous times. Odd, and very telling, considering the comparatively short time they had been together. And instead of filling his brain with memories of how he'd spent his time alone, his thoughts flooded with how he'd spent his free time with Ianto.

All the disastrous attempts at learning to cook that ended with a blaring smoke alarm, much laughter, and a quick call for delivery, followed with a vow to never, ever turn on the stove again. A vow that was always forgotten when one, or both, got it into their heads to try a new recipe. How Jack had tried to teach Ianto the joys of Jazz and how, in return, he insisted Jack listen to Grunge. Neither man ever took to the other's choice in music but they had a lot of fun arguing the merits of the two genres. How they would rent movies, only to spend the night sipping fine wines while ridiculing the writing, the acting, the scenery, the costumes. Not because the movies were bad, though most were - Jack couldn't seem to pick a decent film, but because they had so much fun trying to outdo each other with their mockery. And how, when Jack finally talked Ianto into renting a boat for a pleasant cruise around the bay, Jack had fallen overboard when he tried to show off his (rather lacking) captaining skills. It had taken Ianto six attempts to help Jack back aboard because he kept falling to the deck in laughter. Of course, Ianto had made it up to him once they got back to the Hub. While he had been showering, trying to warm up from the cold dousing in the Bay, Ianto had slipped in, heating him unlike any amount of boiling water could.

There had been so many trysts, so many joinings, so many moments of pleasurable sharing with the gorgeous man. Unforgettable and treasured. He knew, eventually, that all he would have left of Ianto was the memories so he had mentally filed away in exacting detail every sigh, every caress, every touch of tongue to flesh, every laugh as they playfully teased each other, and every serious, intense gaze as they shared of their souls as well as their bodies. He had known it would end someday. He was condemned to live forever and Ianto, his precious Ianto, was not. But he had never imagined, when he couldn't prevent himself from dwelling on the inevitable, that the parting would be from any other reason than Ianto's death.

With a frustrated huff, Jack propelled himself off the cot and up the ladder to his office. _I have to stop this. I have to stop thinking of him. I have to accept it's over. That he will never forgive me._ Jack left his office, fully intending to jog up and down every single corridor until his body was so physically exhausted that it would want to shut down. And maybe, just maybe, his mind would follow suit. He came to a grinding halt when he spied Ianto standing uncertainly in the middle of the Hub.

"I thought you'd gone home for the night."

"I did." There was no icy indifference in his tone, just a disturbing amount of regret, mixed with touches of indecision. Ianto took a step forward as he continued, "I came back."

Jack reflexively mimicked Ianto by taking a single pace forward as well. "I see that."

There was a heavy sigh. "Jack, I ..." Ianto advanced another step forward. "I don't like where things stand between us right now."

"Neither do I." He too stepped forward, shortening the seemingly insurmountable distance between them.

Another step. "So what do we do?"

"I don't know." Jack determinedly took _two_ steps forward. "But I can assure you that I'm open to suggestions."

Ianto strolled forward several steps until a scant two feet remained between them and then he stopped, staring at him with such an intensity that Jack finally allowed himself to hope that things might be able to be mended between them after all. "For once I've got no ideas, Jack. I just know that I hate this. I hate being angry with you and hate having you angry with me. And I really hate how lonely it is at night."

Jack closed the distance between them. "Well, that's a start. I feel the same way."

"Do you?" Ianto reached up and began playing with Jack's braces.

He covered Ianto's hands with his own. "Yeah, I do."

"Jack, I'm sor..."

Jack raised his finger and pressed it softly against Ianto's lips. "No. No apologies and no recriminations." He smiled softly. "Well, maybe a few recriminations for both of us. How about this? We both agree that we let our tempers get the best of us and that we are both idiots." He moved his hands to Ianto's hips and gently pulled their bodies together. "And we further agree that when one of us starts thinking of throwing punches, we nip off to a secluded spot and have angry sex instead."

"Yeah, I think I can agree to all of that." Ianto gazed at him with devilishly sultry eyes. "Speaking of sex ..."

Jack pulled him even closer. "Yeah?" he said with growing breathlessness.

"You up for some make-up sex?"

"Oh, I'm up for it. Just let me demonstrate for you just how up for it I am."

A few hours later, Jack was woken by the blaring of the emergency sirens. It was a testament as to just how exhausted Ianto was that he didn't even twitch at the racket. Jack carefully extricated himself from the cot and laughed as Ianto immediately rolled over to sprawl across the entire surface. "Bed hog," he chuckled as he climbed the ladder to check on the cause of this latest crisis.

He had just begun to tap on the keyboard when Ianto's sleepy voice floated up from below. "Is the coast clear?"

"Yeah, it's safe." He was quickly scanning the incident report, when Ianto rose in his naked glory from the quarters below. Arms encircled Jack's waist and a quick, but sensual, kiss was pressed against his neck.

"So what's the problem this time?"

"Just another weevil sighting. Nothing I can't handle on my own."

Ianto snuggled closer. "Mmmm. You are so warm." Then with a yawn he added, "You sure? I can get dressed and come with you."

Jack turned in Ianto's arms and pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You stay here, get some more sleep, and then when I get back, we can go for round two of make-up sex."

"Don't you mean round four?" Ianto tiredly rested his head on Jack's shoulder.

With a downright husky voice, he replied, "Yeah, you're right, as usual. Round four. Now get your dazzling naked self back into bed so I can get dressed, go catch this damned inconsiderate weevil, and then get back here so I can wake you with tormenting pleasure."

* * *

Jack had been gone only twenty minutes when Ianto crept cautiously back into the central Hub. His attire was unusual, given his customary preference for immaculate suits and pristine shirts. His jeans were grubby, stains of mud clearly evident on the faded, frayed fabric. Only the ratty leather belt kept the overly large jeans from slipping off his frame. He had layered several flannel shirts, the collars sticking out in all directions, under a thick sweatshirt that was as equally grimy as the denim pants. An old, threadbare woolen cap covered his hair. In one hand he held a pair of thick nylon gloves and other hand clenched a battered rucksack, its zipper straining from all the items that were stuffed inside.

Ianto studied the surrounding space intently. Capturing as much as he could to his memory, as if he didn't expect he would ever be welcomed within its confines again. Then he straightened his shoulders resolutely.

"You wouldn't let me say the words to you directly, Jack. So I'm saying them now, to this empty room because the words must be said, even if you're unwilling to hear them. I'm sorry. You can't know how truly sorry I am. I'm sorry for what happened. I'm sorry for the fight. And I'm sorry for deceiving you tonight. But mostly I'm sorry for what I'm about to do. You told me to end this but I can't. I just can't do that. People are dying, Jack, and I owe it to Tony and all the others who have died to find out why and to stop it."

With a final look around, Ianto brushed his fingers across the corner of one of the many shirt collars in a very specific motion and then strode determinably from the Hub out into the frigid, lonely night.


	4. Chapter 3

Jack bounced through the doorway that led up from the weevil cells. "Tosh, you look especially ravishing today. Gwen! That a new shirt? Good color for you." He was oblivious to their stunned expressions as he wandered over to place a friendly hand on Owen's shoulder. "And how's the day treating you, Owen? Could it be any more beautiful?"

"If you say so. Me? I prefer days that aren't so cold as to freeze my balls off, when it's not a torrential downpour that soaks me through within two seconds of walking outside, and with slightly below 'knock you on your arse' wind speeds."

Jack laughed heartedly. "Oh, come on. There must be a least one good thing you can say about this glorious day."

"Well, it looks like I won't be getting my head bit off for breathing wrong. I guess that counts." Owen threw Gwen and Tosh a covert 'just what the hell has gotten into him?' look.

"So, Jack," said Gwen with a delighted smile, "I'm guessing by your good mood that you and Ianto finally made up."

His eyes fluttered shut with the memories of the sensual delights from the night before. "Oh, yeah! There's nothing like really good make-up sex to revive one's spirit. You should try it some time."

"Rhys and I do, on occasion, have fights, Jack," was her dry reply.

"Speaking of ..." Jack strode to the center of the room and lifted his face towards the ceiling, all the better for making his booming voice heard. "Ianto! Get your perky arse down here. I need some coffee and we have some repercussions to discuss." The sound of his cheerful bellow echoed in the cavernous space.

"He isn't with you?"

He looked at Tosh as if she had suddenly lost her mind. "No. I left him sleeping on the cot while I went out to chase a very shrewd weevil across half of Cardiff. I swear they are getting smarter." He settled himself comfortably against her desk. "Get this. Every time I nearly had it cornered, it would somehow skirt around me and then the chase would be on again. Crafty thing even laid down false trails, doubled back on them, and then would take off in a different direction. Took me a while to figure out what it was doing but I caught it in the end."

Jack looked around the Hub again. "Seriously, where's Ianto?"

"I haven't seen him, Jack. When I arrived this morning, everything was still powered down. Ianto wasn't here."

"He's got to be. His car is still in the lot. I saw it as I came in." He looked over at Gwen and Owen. "Have either of you seen him?" At the shake of their heads, Jack began pacing the floor. "So you're telling me, as far as you knew, Ianto didn't report for work today, and not one of you called to tell me?"

"Well, I thought that maybe the two of you were off somewhere trying to patch things up," said Gwen. "I didn't want to interrupt if that was the case."

"Not me. I figured Jack had finally gotten fed up and was retconning Ianto back to the thumb-sucking, bed-wetting stage of life. Either that or Ianto had incapacitated him and was doing a runner."

"Owen!"

"It's the truth, Tosh. It's not like these two have been tip toeing hand in hand through the tulips in recent days."

Tosh turned to her computer, softy tapping at her keyboard. "I just ran a scan. There's only the four of us, the weevils, and the centipede-moths here."

Jack gazed at the computer screen for several moments. "Maybe he stepped out for supplies. He'll be back soon."

"I don't think so," Gwen countered. "We've been here two hours and haven't seen or heard from him. If he needed this long to get supplies, he'd have taken his car which you said was still in the lot."

"Call his mobile, Gwen."

He was unaware of her nod or her movement as she lifted the handset. His focus was captured by the computer screen which continued to show the absence of the one person he wanted to see.

He turned his head towards Gwen. "Anything?"

"It'll be ringing him just about now."

Everyone's heads swiveled towards Jack's office as the distinctive sound of Ianto's ringtone could be heard issuing forth. Gwen gently put the handset down and followed the procession to Jack's office. Set neatly in the center of the desk was Ianto's mobile.

"He never goes anywhere without it."

Jack reached over, picking up the now quiet mobile. "No, he doesn't. Tosh, do me a favor. Pull up the Hub CCTV recordings from this morning. I left a little before four so start there."

"Right away."

Jack just stood there, turning the mobile over and over in his hand.

"I'm sure he's okay." Gwen laid a sympathetic hand on his arm.

Owen was moving around the office, quietly scrutinizing every nook and cranny. "Everything in here seems in order. Nothing out of place or out of the ordinary. Mind if I check out your quarters?"

"I've got something!"

"Later, Owen. Let's see what Tosh found." Jack took a final look at Ianto's mobile before sliding it into his pocket and then the three of them hurried to Tosh's desk.

All four monitors displayed the black and white image of the Hub's central area. "Okay, this is from twenty-one minutes, forty-two seconds after you left, Jack." She pressed one button and the screens began to show Ianto's form creeping into view.

"What the hell is he wearing? He suddenly decide to give up on GQ chic and start a new trend in Hobo filth?"

Gwen snapped out, "Shut it, Owen!" She moved closer to a monitor, eyes squinting. "He's saying something. Tosh, do we have audio on this?"

"Er." Tosh's cheeks turned a rosy shade. "No, Jack ordered me to disable all audio after he and Ianto ..." Her voice trailed off softly.

"Oh, yeah. I remember."

All four pairs of eyes watched as Ianto's recorded image ended its voiceless speech, look around, and then reach to his collar.

"Woah! What just happened?"

"Tosh, wind that back!"

The sound of fingers tapping keys was drowned out by Jack's impassive voice. "Don't bother."

He turned and bolted back into his office. The three puzzled Torchwood employees followed in their leader's wake to find him in front of the secure vault, carefully entering the combination. They could hear him quietly mumbling, "The bastard. The bloody bastard."

"You think he took something from the secure vault?"

Jack didn't bother to even look up at Owen when he answered. "Not from the vault, no. From the secret vault."

"We have a secret vault?"

He grimly replied, "Not anymore." He then opened the heavy door to the safe which housed some of the most dangerous artefacts that Torchwood housed. The three team members watched as Jack reached inside the vault to the inner left corner. They could tell from the flex of muscles in his hand that he was manipulating something and then that was forgotten as they watched in amazement as the metal cube which housed the artefacts lift quietly up into the wall. A new metal cube rolled forward to fill the empty space. The secret vault seemed to be comprised of some alien metal, the glittering sheen of the heavy door was a strange, almost pulsating, silvery-green color. The only adornment on the door was a long thin black bar, placed in the exact center of the square. There was no handle, no perceivable way to open the safe.

Jack shifted slightly to block the views of the three observers, continuing to murmur, 'that bastard,' as he carefully manipulated the black bar in a series of careful, precise taps along its length. He stood back and the heavy door swung open automatically. Inside, the safe was mostly empty. Just three fairly small metal cubes of the same material as the safe. Two of the boxes were still intact. The third, however, was missing its lid with its interior hopelessly empty.

"Oh, you are clever, Ianto Jones. Far cleverer than I ever gave you credit. Few people can bypass a deadlock seal. Even the Doctor has trouble with them but you ... I don't know if I'm going to throttle you or kiss you when I get my hands on you."

Gwen stepped farther into the room. "What did he take?"

"A Nevallian cloaking device."

Peeking around Owen's shoulder, Tosh was softly chewing on her lower lip. "If you explain how it works, I might be able to write a program that can detect his movements on the CCTV network."

Jack shook his head. "It'd be a wasted effort. You saw it. He simply didn't register on the cameras once he activated it. As long as there's power in the battery, he won't show on _any_ recording device."

Gwen sat down heavily in the chair Ianto usually occupied. "Like the perception filter on the lift?"

"That keeps people from being aware of you. This works differently. You can see him, talk with him, even try to pick his pocket if you were so inclined. Point a camera at him, you'd see him through the lens. Snap a shot of him and develop that picture, you'd just be seeing whatever was behind him instead of his image." Jack finished locking up the vault and turned to the three team members, pleased to find that all had looks of intense concern and apprehension on their faces.

"We all know what he's doing. He was convinced that there was something suspicious about his friend's death and, apparently, he's not willing to let it go. In order to find Ianto, we're going to have to figure out where his investigation was leading him. And because I'm such a bull-headed idiot, we're going to have to reconstruct his research from the ground up. Tosh, start hacking into every police and morgue database. Flag every suicide, including all failed attempts, of homeless people for the past six months. It might help us zero in on a specific area of the city. Coordinate what you find with Gwen." Jack was turning his gaze to Owen when Tosh interrupted.

"Jack, there's something I should tell you."

"Later." After pulling a sheet of paper from one of the desk drawers and scrawling his name across the bottom, Jack walked over to Owen. "Here's an exhumation order. Just fill in the blanks and get that body back here ASAP. Dig it up yourself if you have to. Then start a thorough exam. Go over ever centimeter of the body. Run every scan, every test you can think of. Scrutinize every strand of hair if necessary. Find me something!"

"Yeah, I'll get right on it," he replied somewhat awkwardly. "It'll be so quick it'll seem like the body was here all along."

"Good. The sooner, the better. Gwen, get on the phone to Andy. I know Ianto called him frequently about a number of cases. See if Andy can recall which ones he expressed especial interest in. Insist he send you copies of any of those cases and any new ones that have come up in the past five days. Oh, and if he gives you a hard time about it, threaten him with a visit from me." Jack, so caught up in his concern for Ianto, missed the guilty look Gwen was wearing like a shroud.

Tosh stood up resolutely. "Jack, there is something I _must_ show you on the computer."

Jack spread out his arm to indicate she should proceed him. As they started walking back into the Hub, Tosh began talking. "You know how you told me to delete all Ianto's data that day?"

He nodded while saying, "Yes and I know you did because I checked that night to make sure you hadn't missed anything."

Tosh sat at her desk and immediately began typing on the keyboard. "Well, it only _looked_ like I had deleted it." She stopped typing and turned to him with an imploring look. "It's just ... Ianto doesn't usually get so adamant about things and I thought that maybe there could be something to what he was seeing, so I ..." Her voice had dropped to a near whisper and then with a firm determination, she continued, "I moved the files to another partition and ghosted it to seem like available storage space."

Jack looked at her impassively. "You disobeyed a direct order?"

"I did."

"You are an angel, Tosh," he said before lowering his face and kissing her soundly. "An absolute angel. Now get cracking and figure out where he might be. And try to decipher what Ianto was saying on that recording while you're at it."

As he was turning away, he noticed Gwen was pulling out a large cardboard carton from under her desk. "And what's this?"

She was rather smug when she answered. "Ianto's research. He's rarely wrong about anything so I thought I'd better hold onto it."

Her rich laugh loudly sounded as Jack swung her round, dipped her down, and planted a hearty kiss on her lips. "You're fantastic. Bloody fantastic. Okay, you and Tosh start digging through all the info and figure out where our wayward teammate is."

"Since it's confession time, I should tell you that the body is still down in the med bay cooler."

Jack placed his palms solidly on Owen's desk. "And just why, may I ask, is that?"

"Well, it's like this," Owen answered defensively. "I meant to get right to moving the body out of here but I was in the middle of an experiment with the centipede-moths. It was sort of time sensitive so I figured I'd complete the experiment first. And then, well, I got so caught up in analyzing the results, I forgot all about calling the mortuary."

Jack sighed heavily before pushing away from Owen's desk. "At least you won't have to waste the day waiting for the body to get back here. Go examine Tony's body and see if there's anything to Ianto's hunch."

"Oi! Where's my snog?"

"They," Jack said with a finger pointing towards the two women huddled together at Tosh's workstation, "deliberately disobeyed my orders because they thought Ianto might be on to something. You didn't ignore my order, you simply forgot to follow it but find me something that pinpoints where he is and you'll get that snog. I'll even up the ante. Find something that proves he was right all along, and I will give you a night that will rock your world."

For a moment, Owen looked intrigued before firmly shaking his head. "As much as I would like to say yes, I prefer my coffee without liberal dosings of industrial strength laxatives which is exactly what Ianto would do if I encroached on his territory. How about you just promise not to yell at me the next time I forget to do something?"

"Deal."

Jack raised his voice so he could gain the attention of the three team members. "Once Ianto is back, the five of us are going to have a serious conversation concerning lines of command and following direct orders. For now, however, thank you for _not_ following my asinine dictates that day. Now get cracking. We have a missing team member out there."

Jack watched as Owen walked down to the med bay and then swung his gaze towards Gwen and Tosh. The women were going between pointing at the computer monitor and a large map spread across the work surface. They were talking earnestly and the intensity on their faces was somewhat comforting for him. They would keep at it, would cover every avenue, until they found something tangible. He wandered over to watch Owen transfer Tony's body from the cooler to the examination table. Owen had transformed from the smart-aleck, belligerent prat he often was to the scrupulous, inquisitive researcher that would not stop until all the answers were found. If there was anything to Ianto's hunch, Owen would uncover it.

At that very moment, Jack felt useless. He'd given the orders, the team was hard at work, and there was little he could do until they discovered something. His impulse was to grab his coat and keys and begin driving all over Cardiff looking for Ianto but he knew it would be futile. The young man was clever and knew how to avoid detection. Going to Ianto's flat would be an even more wasted effort. If he had left any sort of message, it would have been on Jack's desk. A desk that had been bare of anything but the mobile. Ianto wasn't going to be found until he wanted to be found or until one of the team stumbled over a clue that would lead them to his whereabouts.

"Jack, I've found something unusual."

He headed down to the med bay to find Owen looking intently at one of the wrists of the body. "Mind you, it could be nothing. I've only had a cursory look. Still have a lot of tests to run, plus complete a thorough examination and autopsy before I can give you an absolute determination. But look at these marks."

There, just above the wrist, were four smallish oval outlines in a darkish tan on the cafe au lait skin. Owen turned the wrist over and another, larger tan-outlined oval was visible.

"Doesn't look like bruises."

"No, bruises aren't tan in color, nor would you just get just an outline from a bruise. This is something else." Owen began trying to align his fingers over the marks. "Tosh! Come here."

"I'm busy."

"And so am I. This will just take a second."

When Tosh joined them, Owen grabbed her hand without a 'by your leave' and aligned her fingertips over the marks. "Almost an exact match."

"So whoever caused these marks has a small hand."

"Or whatever has a small appendage similar in size to Tosh's hand. I'll know more after I run some tests."

Jack was turning to go to his office when Tosh's gentle hand stopped him. "I ran a lip-reading program to interpret what Ianto was saying before he left. I think it's pretty accurate." Her expression was distressed when she added, "I sent the file to your computer."

Jack went up and settled himself in his desk chair. As much as he wanted to hear, wanted to know what Ianto had said before he left, Jack found himself hesitating. Tosh obviously thought there was something in the message that would be upsetting. He and Ianto had only just started to patch things when Ianto had pulled his disappearing act. _Or had we made up? Could it have nothing more than a ruse to distract me so he could get his hands on the cloaking devise?_

He stopped vacillating and tapped the key to start the file. The monitor quickly filled with the CCTV image of Ianto standing in the Hub. From the speakers, the sound of a computer-generated voice began to play but in Jack's mind he heard Ianto's beautiful Welsh voice.

_You wouldn't let me say the words to you directly, Jack. So I'm saying them now, to this empty room because the words must be said, even if you're unwilling to hear them. I'm sorry. You can't know how truly sorry I am. I'm sorry for what happened. I'm sorry for the fight. And I'm sorry for deceiving you tonight. But mostly I'm sorry for what I'm about to do. You told me to end this but I can't. I just can't do that. People are dying, Jack, and I owe it to Tony and all the others who have died to find out why and to stop it._

Jack rewound the recording to a particular moment. _And I'm sorry for deceiving you tonight. _He played it again. And then again. He continued to replay that one line until the words no longer registered in his mind.

* * *

Gwen popped her head in his office. "Tosh and I have made some progress." She stopped when she saw the empty look on Jack's face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Jack shook himself firmly out of his stupor. "Show me what you've got." He followed Gwen, ignoring her discrete worried glances. The monitors at Tosh's desk each showed a detailed map of Cardiff, clusters of colored dots scattered at various locations.

"Have you figured out where he might be?"

Tosh sadly shook her head. "We've narrowed it down to three possible areas." With a few taps of keys, large circles, encompassing depressingly expansive areas, appeared on the map. "But we have determined that he was undoubtedly on to something. I extrapolated, based on the past several years suicide rates, what the numbers in Cardiff _should _have been among the homeless population the past six months." The monitor screens shifted to show a line graph, a blue line dipping and rising across the field. "And this is the actual numbers for the past six months." A second line, red this time, was added to the graph.

Jack let out a low whistle. "That's a significant difference."

"It's nearly a nineteen percent rise over the past six months and, as you can see, its trending higher each month."

"And what's more, I talked to Andy an hour ago," Gwen interjected. "There's been five more homeless suicides in the past four days."

"So whatever is causing this is speeding up and Ianto's out there, alone, trying to find it." Jack continued to stare at the monitors. "Tosh, see if you can narrow the parameters. We have to figure out where Ianto is. This is too dangerous for him to be solo."

Tosh decisively shook her head. "No, Jack. I think that's where Ianto went wrong. He narrowed things too much. He only looked at the homeless population. I believe if we expand the parameters to the general population and extend the timeline further back, things will get clearer."

"You're the expert. Do what you think is best."

"There's something else I want to try." More taps on the keyboard brought up about a dozen different headshots. "These are the suicide victims that Ianto seemed most interested in. I want to program them into the CCTV network facial recognition program and track back their movements for the past month. The bodies were found all over the city but if we can find some location of commonality between them ..." Her voice trailed off before picking back up. "It's going to take time, though, and a lot of the computer resources."

Jack, nodding his approval, placed a hand on each of the women's shoulders. "But keep your focus on Ianto's whereabouts. Once we know he's safe then we'll focus on whatever is causing this."

Gwen reached up and squeezed the hand on her shoulder. "Of course."

Jack walked over the landing above the med bay to find Owen hunched over the body. "Got anything for me?"

"A bit, yeah." Owen stretched and motioned for Jack to join him. "I was right. Those marks above his wrists aren't bruises. But the area is _flooded_ with serotonin and melatonin. Furthermore, the rest of the body is almost completely depleted of them. Significantly lower levels of serotonin and melatonin are coming up in all tests except at where the marks are." Owen reached over and grabbed the deep body scanner, positioning it carefully. "And look at this." Owen pressed a few buttons on the scanner. Pointing at a nearby monitor, he continued, "This is the pineal gland which produces melatonin. It's a quarter the size it should be."

"And what does a lack of serotonin and melatonin do to a person?"

Owen set down the scanner on a nearby trolley and then turned back to Jack. "People with reduced amounts of either usually have depression-like symptoms. Sleep more than usual, have little energy, crave sweets and starchy food, show little interest in normal activities. Panic attacks aren't usual. But levels this low ... I can't even imagine the kind of personal hell that would cause." He looked around carefully, making sure that neither of the two women could hear him. "Jack, can we speak? Privately?"

"Of course." He proceeded Owen into his office and waited patiently as Owen closed the door and began pacing.

"Jack. I'm sorry. It's my fault Ianto took off." Owen stopped pacing, and grabbed, with white-knuckle strength, at the back of a chair. He kept his eyes down while saying, "I know better than anyone what it means to lose someone, particularly when it's unexpected. What it means to have to go on without someone you deeply care about. When Ianto's friend died, it stirred up all sorts of things in me, memories I just didn't want to face." Owen angrily shoved the chair and Jack just waited, knowing how difficult, even after all this time, it was for Owen to talk of the loss of his fiancé. "I should have been more understanding. Shouldn't have been such a wanker. Hell! I should have examined the body like he expected me to. Should have ..." Owen stopped, breathing heavily.

Jack leaned forward, lightly resting his elbows on the desktop. "Owen, it's not your fault. It's no one's fault and yet it's all our faults, _especially_ Ianto's." Owen flashed him a puzzled look. "I'll be honest with you. When we were at the morgue so Ianto could identify the body, I didn't believe that there was any more to the situation than Tony was a man who lived an incredibly rough life and had simply given up the struggle. The only reason I made it a Torchwood issue was because I thought it would be easier on Ianto to accept the truth if he had a few days to process through the data."

Jack looked at Owen intently, speaking slowly so the words would sink in. "You did exactly what I expected you to do. You reviewed the reports and tests the morgue had done and gave the conclusion you thought to be true." He leaned back slightly. "No, in this situation, I place most of the blame on Ianto's shoulders."

At this Owen sat down heavily. "But he was right, Jack. He was right all along."

"Yes, it's turning out that he was right. But instead of sharing what he was discovering, instead of going to Tosh for help with the research, or telling you about the rise in number of suicides which would have made you do things differently, or any of the many other things he could have done, he kept it all to himself. Of course, Gwen and I didn't push hard enough to get him to tell us what he was doing. Tosh didn't offer him her expertise with statistics and data gathering. You only reviewed the reports instead of running your own tests. And I overreacted when I ordered the destruction of everything he was working on. As I said none of us are to blame and yet we all are. For now, let's set aside the blame game. It'll get us nowhere. Our priorities are to find Ianto and then find whatever is doing this. I need you focused on that, not wasting effort on self-flagellation."

Owen stood quietly and walked to the door. He turned slowly back, saying, "You're right. But, for what it's worth, I am sorry."

"I know. We all are."

Hours later, Jack was placing a blanket across Tosh's shoulders. The young woman had fallen asleep, head cradled on one arm, at her desk. Jack was loathe to wake her, knowing that instead of finding a more comfortable place to rest, she would continue to push herself to work. Owen, intending to take a short break, had crashed hard as he sat on the sofa. Gwen had joined him shortly after, cushioning her tired head on his lap.

The team had pushed themselves hard and, as much as it galled Jack to have any delays, he knew the team would work that much better after refreshing themselves with rest. As he walked around, lowering the lights and powering down equipment, he couldn't keep himself from thinking about Ianto. _Come back to me Ianto. Come back so we can talk, so I can know what you meant by being sorry you deceived me. Come back so we can make things right but mostly, come back so I know you're safe._

* * *

_Cold._

_Cold._

Soaked by the cascading rain and buffeted by the heavy winds, Ianto forced his legs to keep moving. He had to consciously compel first one leg and then the next to lift and propel him forward into the bitterly frigid night.

_So very cold._


	5. Chapter 4

_One foot in front of the other. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other._

In the breaking hours of a new day, Ianto was trudging onward. Rain pounded his weary body. Gusting winds nearly toppled him, stealing the last remnants of warmth. Eyes constantly scanned, searching for a safe place, a spot to revive his sore body and fatigued soul. He had been at it, this vain search for a isolated place to rest, for most of the day and through to the early hours of the morning. A few places had been located, seemingly safe refuges from prying eyes, escapes from the haughty disdain of others he'd experienced all too frequently during his days living on the streets of Cardiff. As soon as he would settle, as soon as he laid down his head, angry voices would chase him off. Threats of violence. Threats of cops. Yells of 'bum' or worse would follow as he moved on, moved away.

Ianto tried to straighten his fingers as he stumbled along the dark, dreary street. For hours they had ached, had sent shooting pains up his arms each time he stretched the frozen digits. Now he could feel nothing. No pain. Not even the overwhelming cold. Just numbness. Unlike the rest of his body - every inch of muscle ached from cold, from weariness, from soul-wrenching desolation.

He came to a break between two shops, the dark alley could hide anything, could have some threat that he was unprepared to face in his current state. Regardless, he knew he had to find shelter from the storm so after a quick scan to make certain no one was about, he slipped in anyway. Immediate relief from the chilling winds should have somewhat lifted his spirits but he was simply too exhausted to notice. He crept down, moving far down the alley until he was moderately certain he was hidden from view. Ianto leaned heavily against one of the buildings, incapable of moving, so exhausted that it was difficult to even think. His legs finally lost their strength and he slid down to rest on the muck covered ground.

_Six days._ Ianto shook his head in disbelief. _Six days I've been at this. And for what? Nothing. Not a damn thing._ When Ianto had started his mission, he'd come up with a clear plan of attack. His first objective, making contact with people living on the street, had, so far, been a complete failure. He saw plenty of them about, two or three resting together on benches, couples begging for coin or food, others congregating in small clusters engaging in whispered huddles, but every time he tried to approach, they had scattered. That they were wary of strangers, even ones of their own population, was obvious and they were never found alone now. The homeless knew that there was a threat out there stalking them and they were gathering together in trusted groups in hopes of staving off the menace. Any stranger was viewed with fear, unease. Ianto, even clothed and living as one of them, was a potential threat in their eyes.

_I should just give up. Just quit. I've been out here for nearly a week and haven't found a damn thing, not one clue to explain why people are killing themselves._ Ianto wrapped his arms around his legs and pulled them close to his body. _Maybe Jack is right. Maybe I deluded myself into seeing something that wasn't there._ Now that he was out of the wind and he was beginning to recover from the intense weariness, the gnawing, painful emptiness of his belly could no longer be ignored. Starvation, like he'd never experienced before, was nearly unbearable. The incredible hunger created an ache, a grinding throb of emptiness that equaled the hammering pain of his sore, tired muscles. He eyed the rubbish bin across from him with revulsion. He was famished but he just couldn't bring himself to do it, to dig through the bin for something, anything, that would fill the excruciating emptiness. He knew, however, that moment was not too far off, that his willpower would soon erode and he would tear, like a famished beast, through the trash for something edible. _Tomorrow. If I haven't made any progress by tomorrow night, I'll go back to Torchwood. I just hope Jack will forgive me._ Resolution made, Ianto finally allowed himself to slip into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

A gentle shake. A light pressure on his arm. The soft sound of a muted voice. All of these things, Ianto became aware of in his slow journey back to wakefulness. A slow journey that abruptly ended. His arm whipped up defensively as the blinding light of a torch painfully pierced his opening eyes.

"Damn it, Mike. Get that torch off his face."

Ianto blinked his watering eyes a few times as he adjusted to the now muted light. "PC Davidson?"

"None of that. Andy is fine, remember?" The police officer lowered down to a crouch. Behind him, Ianto could make out the outline of a larger, looming figure hidden in the shadows. "You okay, mate?"

Nodding slowly, Ianto tried to push himself up. "Yeah, fine. I'll just move on. Didn't mean to cause any problems." His strength gave out and he landed hard on the ground.

Andy reached out a supporting arm. "Steady there." Looking over his shoulder, he addressed the shadow-darkened figure. "Mike, there's a 24-hour diner around the corner. Go grab three coffees and some hot soup for this bloke."

"Why bother? Run this garbage off so we can get out of the cold."

Andy pulled out his wallet and shoved a couple of bills into his partner's hand. "Just do it." After the figure disappeared around the corner, Andy let out a heavy sigh. "There are days I really miss having Gwen as my partner." He then returned his gaze to Ianto. "If I'd known Special Ops paid so little that you folks were forced to live on the street, I wouldn't have wasted so much time envying Gwen."

Ianto just gazed at him dumbly.

"Guess it's not the right time for sarcasm." Andy eyed the rubbish strewn alley and Ianto's sorry state with an air of concern. "So why are you out here, Ianto? I know it's not for the luxury living conditions or the pleasant views?"

Ianto once again tried to push himself off the ground and finally managed to gain a standing position with Andy's assistance. "I can't get into it but it's important. Very important, Andy. I know you have no reason to do me any favors but could you not tell Gwen you've seen me? I need to stay off Torchwood's radar for a while longer."

Andy laughed. "Gwen is not the one you need to worry about. In fact..." He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his mobile. He didn't say anything, just stared at the mobile which read 02:29. The instant the time turned to 02:30, it started shrilly sounding. With a roll of his eyes, Andy lifted it to his ear. "Captain Harkness. How delightful to hear from you. It's only been twenty-six minutes since I last heard your voice. Given that we keep having the same conversation, let me save some time. Yes, I know your operative is missing. Yes, I know Ianto Jones may be posing as a homeless person. Yes, I know I am not to approach him or let him be aware of my presence should I spot him. And, yes, I know to inform you the moment I find him. Did I cover everything? Good. Well, I will wait with bated breath for your next call." Andy took a quick glance at his watch. "Which will occur in approximately twenty-eight minutes."

Andy disconnected from the call and slipped the mobile back into his pocket. "That man really wants to get his hands on you. He's been calling me every thirty minutes, day and night, for the past week. Even manages to somehow turn my mobile back on when I shut it off."

"Why didn't...," Ianto tried to clear his parched throat. "Why didn't you tell him you'd found me?"

"Because I suspect we have something in common." Andy ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He then sighed and leaned against the opposite wall. "I'm not like you lot at Torchwood. When I add two plus two it always equals four but Torchwood, you come up with five. I hear all the rumors around town. About the spooky mysteries Torchwood is always investigating, the weird "alien" creatures you chase. Bunch of rubbish if you ask me."

Andy gazed at Ianto compassionately. "I know I didn't believe you about your friend's death not being a suicide but that was before. Now? Now I believe. Too many people are dying...killing themselves. And not one bloody person seems to care about it except the two of us. I couldn't deny _something _was going on so I went to my superior with my suspicions. He was less than impressed with our findings. He pretty much said those committing suicides were doing the police a favor. Less undesirables to be concerned about. Of course, he worded it less bluntly but that was the general meaning. Then he ordered me to drop it. Harkness did the same to you, didn't he?"

Nodding slowly, Ianto replied, "Pretty much, yes. Jack said I was denying the truth about Tony's suicide and ordered me to stop my investigation. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't just sit idly by knowing people were dying. I have to find out what's causing this and put a stop to it."

"And that's why you're out here? Living like this?"

"It seemed like the best way to get the information I need." Ianto shivered from the blast of cold that edged down the alley. "I've been trying to find someone who knew Tony. Someone who can tell me what he was like the days before his death. Maybe he told them about something unusual or they saw something that happened to him." He let out a discouraged sigh. "I just haven't been able to make contact with anyone."

"Something I can actually help you with," Andy said confidently. "Yesterday, I finally tracked down those friends you mentioned. Bill. Maggie. I know where they're squatting tonight. As soon as my partner gets back with the coffee, I'll take you to them."

"Thanks, Andy. This means a lot." The lifting of despondency helped to revive him more than a full night's sleep in a comfortable bed would have. "You do realize that Jack will find out you've seen me, that you're actively helping me. He doesn't deal well with being thwarted. He could cause you some problems."

Andy shrugged indifferently. "And I'll deal with it if he does. I'm out here to protect people. That's all that matters to me. If it ends up costing me my job, so be it. I'm not going to stand by while people are dying. If you're out here in order to figure out what's going on, the least I can do is give you every bit of assistance I can. That includes lying to your boss."

Further conversation halted as Andy's partner shuffled around the corner. The savory smell of nourishing food sent increasing pangs of grinding hunger throughout Ianto's body. He snatched the proffered cup, swallowing the contents in three large gulps. Instantly his stomach revolted. Having been devoid of any meaningful sustenance for the past many days, it simply couldn't handle the sudden intake. He doubled over, retching while Andy tried to provide careful support.

A cup of coffee was hastily passed to him. Taking a small sip, Ianto swirled the hot liquid before spitting it on the ground. He then leaned back against the brick wall, breathing heavily, with hardly enough strength to hold the cup upright. He tried taking a few sips of the coffee but it only made his stomach roll even more in protest. He pushed himself from the wall and reached down to grab his nearby rucksack. "I'm ready to go whenever you are."

Andy eyed him critically. "Ianto, maybe you should go home for a few days. Rest up. Get some decent food in you. Perhaps see a doctor."

"No," Ianto replied unwaveringly. "If I do that Jack will find me and all of this will have been for nothing. This is too important, plus you've given me what I needed most. Hope. Hope and a chance to question people who talked to Tony in the days before his death."

"Alright, if you're certain but at least let me get you a sandwich or some more soup before we go."

Ianto shook his head firmly as he shuffled out of the alleyway. "Don't bother. I don't think I could hold anything down anyway. What I really need is to talk to these friends of Tony's. The sooner I do that, the sooner I may get to the bottom of this."

* * *

Following a relatively short trip, Ianto found himself sitting in the back of the police cruiser in front of a boarded-up house in a rundown neighborhood. As soon as they arrived, Andy had exited the car and went around to the side of the house, returning shortly with a middle-aged man. Andy was speaking to the man earnestly and animatedly, pointing frequently towards Ianto. Finally, the stranger gave a cautious nod.

Andy returned to the car and opened the door for Ianto. "It took some convincing but he's going to let you bunk down with them tonight. He's a bit wary so I didn't tell him your real purpose for being here. Figured it'd be easier for you that way. I'll stop by before my next shift with some food and, hopefully, some new leads. Good luck, Ianto, and be careful. I don't want to face your boss if something happens to you." Ianto followed Andy to the man standing nearby. Tall and slightly stooped over, the man eyed them guardedly. "Bill, this is Ianto. He's a good bloke. Won't cause any trouble. He just needs a safe place to get some rest."

Brown eyes, sharp with intelligence, studied him intently. "Andy vouches for you so I'll give you a chance. You'll stick to the other side of the room, away from the rest of us. Cause any problems or leave your side of the room, and you'll be facing more trouble than you can imagine. Mess with _any_ of the women and it'll be the last thing you do. Understand?"

"Absolutely. Not here to cause trouble." Ianto then turned to Andy, holding out his hand. After a brief shake, he said, "Thanks ... for everything."

Andy nodded and pulled out his ringing mobile as he climbed back into the car. "Captain Harkness, what a relief! I thought you'd forgotten all about me. Nope, still no sign of your operative but I'll be sure to let you know if I do see him." Andy gave a brief wave as he drove off.

"Follow me," said Bill with a gravelly voice.

Ianto nodded as he readjusted his rucksack on his shoulder. They had hardly started moving when a loud, frightened voice halted them.

"Bill! Bill, you have to let me in. You can't leave me out here alone."

From the shadows of the street, a tall, muscular man appeared, his stride hasty but with the weaving unbalanced gait of a heavily intoxicated person.

Bill sighed heavily. "You know the rules, Steve. If you're high or drunk, you don't squat with us."

Ianto could barely make out the man's features in the gloomy night. Long, stringy blond hair topped a round, boyish face with brilliant blue eyes glazed in terror and drunkenness. Tears streamed down, leaving furrows through the dirt on his face.

"Please, Bill," the man pleaded. "The demons. I just need to get away from the demons."

"Demons?" Ianto came instantly alert. "What demons?"

Bill shook his head sadly. "War vet. Thinks his memories are actually demons hunting him." He turned towards the newcomer. "Okay, you're in but if you cause any problems, you're out. Permanently. I mean it."

"Yes, yes. I just need to get away from the demons. I won't cause any trouble. Just get me away from the demons."

Ianto followed the two men in silence and found himself in a largish room, littered with debris. Bill pointed towards the wall closest to the front of the structure. "You two sleep over there and keep away from the rest of us."

Steve ambled to a corner of the room and sank, in stuttering breath, to the floor. He slipped a bottle of cheap liquor out of his coat pocket and proceeded to gulp down the contents, staring with intense confusion at the ground.

Ianto did his best to quietly clear a spot on the floor. Broken glass, rusty nails, pieces of broken furniture and piles rubbish covered the space. He pulled a shabby blanket from his rucksack and sank to the ground. _Progress. Finally some progress._ Ianto's desire was to immediately start questioning each person sleeping just a few yards from him but now wasn't the time. He had to integrate himself with them, get them to trust him first. He nestled his head on the rucksack. _I promise you, Tony. I promise I won't let anything happen to your friends. I'll keep them safe no matter what it takes._ It was the greatest tribute he could give the man who had cared more for the welfare of others than his own. Ianto finally allowed himself to slip into the first sound sleep he'd had for a week.

* * *

The quiet sounds of movement and soft murmurs finally intruded on Ianto's sleep. He slowly stretched his sore muscles and did his best to wake his foggy mind. Both mind and body protested the activity. The few hours of rest hadn't been enough to revive him, nor was the lack of food helping. Regardless of the exhaustion, Ianto forced himself to stand and begin rolling up his blanket.

"Good. You're awake." Bill was standing nearby. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to try to wake you. Never know how someone's going to react to that." Ianto finally got a good look at the man who had been one of Tony's most mentioned friends. Brown hair, streaked with grey, gave him a distinguished look. Tall and incredibly thin, his clothing was surprisingly clean and well tended considering how he lived. No one would suspect by his clean, neat appearance that he lived on the streets.

"We'll have to clear out of here soon. S'not a good idea to stick around until the sun rises." A clean pair of socks was tossed his way. "Looks like you could use these. Sorry I don't have anything else to spare."

"Thanks," said Ianto with genuine gratitude. A week in the same socks, not to mention the rest of his clothes, had been excruciating. _I'm beginning to understand Tony even more now. How a thing as simple as getting something clean to wear is cause for celebration. Things that most people take for granted - clean clothes, hot water, decent food, a safe place to sleep - is like winning the lottery for these people._

"Steve! Outside with that," Bill yelled at a youngish, heavyset man who had just lit a fag. "And don't go wandering off. I want you to get the ladies safely to the shelter this morning." The twentyish year old nodded abstractly as he grabbed his torn bag and slipped outside.

Bill waved Ianto over. "This is Brenda," he said, indicating a middle-aged woman who was brushing her grey-blonde hair. "And this is Maggie." The elderly woman, probably in her early seventies, was trying to gather up her many bags and bundles. Without thinking, he bent over to grab a few of them.

"Don't touch that!" Maggie snapped out. "I won't have you stealing from me."

He hastily dropped the bags. "I was just trying to help."

"Don't lie to me." She eyed him hostilely. "Either you were going to steal it or plant listening devices so you can track me. I won't have it! No one touches my things, you hear me?"

Brenda chuckled. "As if you'd let us forget. Come on. Let's get to the shelter so we can get in line. With any luck we'll get in before they run out of things you'll eat." She gathered up her belongings before turning to Ianto. "It was nice meeting you. Hope to run into you again."

Maggie just gave him a gruff "hmph" as she shambled towards the exit with Brenda trailing not too far behind.

Ianto looked over at the only other occupant of the abandoned house. Steve, the war vet, was still slumped in the corner, the now empty liquor bottle tightly clasped in his hand. "Should we wake him?"

"Not if you value your life." Bill looked at the sleeping man with sorrow. "When he first wakes, he thinks he's back in war. He'll attack anyone close by. Just let him sleep it off. He'll wake eventually and sneak out with no one the wiser."

"Alright, Ianto." Bill gave him a stern look. "It's time you come clean. Who are you hiding from? I know it's not the coppers. Andy wouldn't have brought you here if that was the case."

"What makes you think I'm hiding from someone?" he asked, somewhat taken about.

Bill gave a bitter laugh. "First rule of the streets. Everyone is hiding from something. The cops. Family. The past. The present. The future. Mostly, though, people like us are trying to hide from ourselves. So what are you hiding from?"

Ianto knew he had to be cautious with his answer. Truthful enough to be believed but obscure enough that his tenuous position with Tony's friend wouldn't be jeopardized. Bill had to trust him if he was going to get the information he needed. "A man. I needed some time to get things sorted out, figure out some things. He didn't like it so I'm trying to avoid him until I've got it resolved."

"Boyfriend?"

He sighed. "Sort of. It's a bit more complicated than that."

"It always is." Bill continued to study him closely. "Okay. Good enough for me." Bill grabbed his few bundles. "We'd best get going. The longer we can keep the locals unaware of our presence, the longer we can keep sleeping here. Might be lucky and get another three days before we have to move on." Ianto followed Bill out of the building. "You seem like a trustworthy sort so if you need a place to bunk tonight, show up here just after sunset. If I manage to find us a better place, someone will be here to tell you the new location."

They got to the front of the building and Bill looked up at the dawning sky. "Seems like we may actually get to see the sun today. The constant rainstorms and overcast skies of the past weeks is getting depressing." With a jerk of a thumb over his shoulder, Bill continued, "There's a corner a few blocks away where you can pick up some day work. You're welcome to join me if you need money. I'll steer you away from the ones who will work you all day and then refuse to pay."

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea." Before Ianto could take a single step in the direction Bill had indicated, an all too familiar black SUV screeched forward and stopped with exact precision directly in front of them. Jack didn't even bother to glance over. He simply sat, staring impassively ahead, expecting the implied order of returning to Torchwood would be followed without hesitation. And Ianto, with sinking spirits, knew he would do exactly that.

Bill quickly picked up on Ianto's unease. "This the bloke you've been avoiding?"

"Yes. I knew he'd find me eventually. I'd just hoped it wouldn't be so quick." Ianto shifted his rucksack to his other hand and following a brief handshake with Bill, said, "Thanks for letting me sleep here last night and for the offer to come back tonight. I doubt I'll be here though."

"You sure about this, Ianto?" Bill studied the imposing vehicle with apprehension. "It's none of my business but there are safer ways to earn coin than selling yourself, assuming that's what's going on here. Some of those guys can be real creeps or outright sickos. You don't have to go with him."

"I'll be fine," Ianto replied dejectedly. "The most he'll do is yell at me." _Right before he retcons my arse into a drooling imbecile._

With a heavy heart, Ianto walked over and climbed into the SUV. He knew that his investigation into the alarming suicide rates was over. He had defied Jack, lied to him. And even after a week living homeless he had nothing tangible to present in his defense. He had nothing but an intense gut feeling and a few odd statistics that people were dying needlessly. That was not going to be enough to sway the leader of Torchwood.

Jack continued to sit there, impassively staring ahead, not even bothering to spare a glance in his direction.

"I suppose Andy told you where I was."

Continuing to stare ahead, Jack's voice was as impassive as his manner. "Not intentionally. The CCTV showing Andy speaking to and shaking hands with thin air is what gave you away."

"You've been tracking Andy on the CCTV network?"

"We've been tracking every police officer." Still not bothering to look in his direction, Jack steely said, "Seatbelt."

That was the last word exchanged between the two men as they headed back to the Torchwood HQ.


	6. Chapter 5

Water pelted down, the heat just scant of scalding. Vigorous repeated scrubbing had redden and sensitized the delicate skin to the point of actual pain, and yet Ianto continued to scrub. He stood under the flowing stream, rinsing away suds. Automatically he reached once again for the shampoo. Four washing hadn't yet removed the feeling of muck clinging to the strands. Even after an hour of scrubbing and cleaning, Ianto felt as if he still had grime embedded inches under the skin. The only washing up he'd gotten during the week on the streets was when the ice cold rain would rinse away the topmost layer of dirt. Teeth cleaning had, by necessity, been reduced to dipping a corner of his tattered blanket into somewhat clean rainwater and scrubbing vigorously at teeth and gums. With deep regret, Ianto shut off the water following a final rinse. A lifetime of scouring would not remove the indelible mark on his soul left by the rather short time he'd spent living homeless.

He quickly dried himself and wrapped a towel around his middle. With a speedy sweep, he cleaned the fogged mirror. Without really looking at his reflection, Ianto lathered up and began the task of removing a week's worth of stubble. With each scrape of blade, he left behind, at least physically, the man who had chosen to be homeless. Finally looking, really looking, at the face staring back at him from the steam-edged mirror, he realized that he would never completely lose the emotional impacts.

He had once chided Tosh for loving the exulting rush she and the others experienced when facing the unknown, when terror would wash their mouths with the bitter tang of adrenaline, when blood would start pulsing in anticipation. Adrenaline junkies, he would often call them in the quiet of his thoughts whenever he saw their eyes start to glaze in excitement. Eventually, he'd joined them in their love of the tingling rush, that fluttering jolt in the belly when danger was just around the corner. Having Jack to help work off the exhilaration afterwards, only increased his addiction to facing perils.

_The streets are different. Not the quick flash of fear, the instantaneous quiver of anticipation that dissipates quickly afterward. It's constant. Ever increasing. Growing insidiously with each footstep, each breath. Building and mounting. Never abating. Will I find something to eat? Will I get harassed by police? Will someone attack me for my meager possessions? Will I find a place to sleep? Will I ever be warm again? Will I survive the night? Will I? Will I? A life of nothing but will I's._

Steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation, Ianto left the tiny washroom to return to Jack's quarters. To the casual observer, Jack appeared to be nonchalantly relaxing across the tiny camp bed while resting his back against the headboard. Ianto was anything but a casual observer, particularly when it came to Jack Harkness. With a quick look, he took in the deceptive pose that was meant to conceal the rigidly controlled muscles, the grimly tightened smile, and the deep intensity that flashed in his blue eyes. "So how angry are you?"

Jack dropped the fake smile, masking his face with an impassivity that was almost chilling. "Let's just say, Mr. Jones, we will be marking your fiftieth birthday before you've even begun to erase this one from the books." His voice remained as disturbingly impassive as his face.

Ianto gave him a succinct nod before turning to rummage through the dresser drawers.

"What are you looking for?"

He could not keep the desperation out of his voice when he spoke. "Please tell me I still have some clean pants here."

"Top right-hand drawer."

He quickly pulled out a pair and dropped the towel from around his hips. With a slight smirk to his lips at the sudden lust gracing Jack's face, he eased them on. _So not quite in as much trouble as he's trying to pretend._

Barely suppressing a deep sigh, Ianto turned fully towards where he was still lying on the camp bed, deciding it would be best to get the impending argument over within the privacy of Jack's quarters. Torchwood tongues wagged enough about the two of them without adding new fuel for the gossip mill. Crossing his arms firmly across his chest, he looked Jack squarely in the eyes as he said, "I'm not going to apologize for ignoring your request."

With a lightening flash speed, Jack was off the bed and standing just inches from him. "Just how in the hell do you interpret 'End this now!' as anything other than an outright order?"

Ianto braced himself, anticipating being firmly manhandled back against the wall, or, at the very least, an explosion of furious yelling, before he replied. "Perhaps if you had added the words 'and that's an order'."

He had been expecting a wide variety of reactions but Jack indulging in a rich, hearty belly laugh had not made it to the list. He stood there, dumbly staring as his lover's laughter dropped down to an occasional chuckle.

"And would that have made any difference?" Jack moved to lazily lean against the wardrobe.

Ianto gave a brief shrug. "Probably not." He risked a mischievous grin before adding, "I'd have figured out a loophole anyway."

That quip earned him another chuckle. "Of that I have little doubt, Ianto. One of the many things that attracts me is your devious mind and your indomitable determination."

"So what now? Another suspension?"

The mirth disappeared to be replaced by the ever-present impassivity. "Your punishment has yet to be determined. In the meantime, put these on." Jack grabbed a pair of flannel trousers and a plain white undershirt from the end of the bed. "Then report to Owen for a physical and that _is_ an order with not a single available loophole."

After dressing, Ianto stooped to pick up his discarded clothing.

"Leave that. You might need them again," Jack said cryptically. "Except the pants." His nose wrinkled in revulsion. "Those I will personally take to the incinerator. Now get moving."

As Ianto walked out of Jack's office, he was unsurprised to find the Hub empty. None of the Torchwood employees had been present when Jack had firmly marched him down to his quarters. This time, however, he could hear Owen moving about the med bay, the soft clang of instrument trays being set on surfaces, the low muttering the medic was apt to engage in when he was trying to sort out some perplexing problem.

"Finally!" Owen said, snark and impatience more than evident in his voice. "You think I have all day to wait around for you?" He pointed imperiously towards the autopsy trolley. "Strip down to your pants and then sit."

As Ianto silently complied, the medic grabbed a juice glass full of a brown viscous liquid and thrust it at him. "Drink."

He took the glass, eyeing the fluid with disgust. "It looks like mud."

Owen laughed. "It probably tastes as good too. Drink it anyway. It contains essential trace minerals and vitamins. Plus it will help keep you chucking everything up once I clear you for eating solids." He passed a scanner over Ianto. "Only a fool goes as long without food as it seems you have."

The examination proceeded in absolute silence. Owen concentrated on running various scanners over him while Ianto watched, waiting to see Jack amble up to the railing overlooking the med bay. Mild at first, a burning itch started in his hands and feet. He ignored it for a time but with each heartbeat the intensity grew until he couldn't prevent himself from scratching at the reddening skin.

"Bad?" Owen said with a bit of sympathy.

Ianto nodded. "It's getting there. Don't know if it's the burning or the itching that's the worse."

Owen opened a cabinet, grabbing a container of salve. With a gentleness that rarely made an appearance in the testy man, Owen began to smooth the white ointment on his sensitive fingers, instantly reducing the painful sensations.

"What's wrong?" Jack, obviously just arriving, looked down with concern.

"Mild frostbite." Owen started to massage the ointment into Ianto's feet. "It'll be a day or two before I can be certain there's no tissue damage but I think he'll be fine." He thoroughly cleaned his hands and took a close look at Ianto's legs, going so far as to push up the pant material. He then rummaged through a nearby cabinet, pulling out another jar of ointment. "_This_ is for the rash you've got on your crotch. Didn't your mum teach you to put on a clean pair of pants every morning?"

The punch Ianto landed on Owen's arm could hardly be called playful.

"At least your muscle strength is still good." The medic snickered as he moved out of striking range. "This one I _won't_ be applying. If you're nice to Jack, however, I'm sure he'll volunteer."

Ianto, angrily looking around for something to throw, was stopped short by Jack's stern warning.

"That's enough you two." He appeared severe, but Ianto could detect that Jack was fighting valiantly to keep from chuckling. "What's the verdict, Owen?"

"What I expected." He walked over to a nearby trolley and grabbed an ominous looking device. "He's lost some weight. Malnourished. Dehydrated. Suffering from sleep deprivation. Mild frostbite to hands and feet. Should clear up in a couple of days as long as he keeps them dry and fairly warm. A nasty looking, but mild, rash from not listening to his mum when he was a young boy."

Jack said nothing for a moment, just stared at Ianto with a strange mix of relief and anxiety. "So no medical objections?"

"None at all with the exception that he's a bleeding idiot but I've always thought that."

For the next few moments, Jack and Owen stared at each other. Ianto switched from looking at Owen's questioning gaze to Jack's indecipherable expression. Nothing happened, neither twitched nor shifted, the two seemed carved of marble as they stood, staring across the expanse, an unvoiced question seemed to float back and forth between them. Then Jack nodded so subtly that Ianto almost missed it.

Before he could shift, even before he could feel the stirrings of alarm, Owen struck. A sharp, searing pinching, followed by the stab of a long needle into his arm caused Ianto to cry out in pain. "What the hell!" He began to rub the stinging area.

Owen ignored him as he placed the device that had been used to inject him on a nearby trolley. Picking up yet another scanner, he ran it across the sore arm. "Tracker working perfectly, Jack. Ianto could run as far as Jupiter and we'd still be able to find him."

"You tagged me? I'm not some damned dog!" Ianto scowled his outrage up at Torchwood's leader.

"No, you're an important team member who went AWOL for a week. From now on, I'm going to know exactly where you are at every second of the day and night," Jack forcefully replied.

Owen blithely piped in, "And since the tracker is alien tech, you can't leave the Hub without his express permission now." Ignoring the fact that the two men were glaring at each other, he handed Ianto both bottles of salves. With a pointed finger at the tall, thin bottle, he said, "This is for the rash. Apply a thin layer twice a day to the area. The other ointment is for the frostbite. Use it anytime your fingers or feet start burning or itching. And try to change your socks several times a day. It's important you keep your feet as dry as possible for the next several days."

"Fine. Are we done here? I really need something to eat."

"Not quite yet." Jack's voice was back to being impassive. "Owen, go help Tosh and Gwen finish setting up. Ianto and I need to talk."

"Make it quick, Jack. He really does need to get some food in him."

"Promise." Jack waited patiently while Ianto dressed and then joined him in his office, quietly shutting the door. He stood, staring at Ianto standing by his desk. "You sure you're okay?"

"Other than being ravenous enough to eat a weevil and needing about four straight days of sleep, yeah, I'm fine."

"Good. That's ... good."

Jack gave every impression of being apprehensive. Uncomfortable even. Ianto certainly hadn't expected flirting, nor even a particularly friendly manner. But this nervousness, this insecurity was unexpected. "Jack ..."

"No. Let me speak first or rather let your own words speak first." He walked to his desk and tapped a single button on the keyboard. The sound of a computer generated voice instantly could be heard.

_And I'm sorry for deceiving you tonight._

The words hung in the air. Jack stared at the keyboard while Ianto stared at him. And it finally hit Ianto that Jack hadn't been hiding anger behind the mask of impassivity. It had been misery. Misery and confusion.

Silence reigned as Jack moved from behind the desk. Without acknowledging Ianto's presence, he leaned against the desk, looking without really seeing into the Hub. "So? Is it true? Were you only pretending to patch things up with me so you could get your hands on the cloaking device?"

"No! Oh, gods, no." Ianto sat next to Jack, wretchedness and guilt washing over him. "I only meant that I deceived you into thinking I was going to stop trying to find out what happened to Tony."

Not at all convincingly, Jack responded, "Okay."

He tilted his head towards Jack. "Did you really think, all this time, I was just faking what I said that night? That I didn't mean it when I said I hated what was going on between us?"

"It seemed like the only conclusion."

"Particularly since I had already tricked you once before. Hiding Lisa in the basement was about the most deceitful thing I could ever do." Ianto's shoulders slumped with remorse. "It's true I came back to get the cloaking device but that was the secondary reason. What was more important was to try to work things out with you. Jack, I really did hate what was going on. I missed you. I missed the laughter and the fun. I missed _us_. And I hated having you so angry with me. I couldn't leave with how things were. Couldn't take off without making an effort to make things right." He sighed heavily. "Especially knowing that I was going screw things up for us even more within a few hours. I'm really sor..."

"Don't!"

"Damn it, Jack!" Ianto stood and maneuvered himself between Jack's legs. "Sometimes a person has to be a man and apologize when he's wrong or he's hurt someone. And sometimes a person has to be man enough to accept it. Why do you have such a problem with me apologizing?"

Jack looked a little sheepish. "Because there shouldn't have to be any apologies between us. There should never be any cause to."

With a chuckle, he said, "We're not perfect. Far from it. We'll have good times that will help us weather the bad ones. And, if the future is going to be anything like the present or the past, I'll frequently screw up so expect to hear me apologizing multiple times over the years." He smiled, though hesitantly, for he knew he was entirely responsible for the conflict and misunderstanding. "So, are we good?"

"Yeah, we're good." Jack reached up and pulled Ianto down for a kiss, one that quickly deepened. Not with passion but with the sharing of contrition, regret, and, finally, absolution. "We're always good. I'm just glad you're back and you're safe."

Jack waited until Ianto returned to leaning against the desk beside him. "You know, this would have been less complicated if you had just shared with me what you were doing."

Ianto sighed. "I realize that now. I suppose, at first, I _needed_ to do it on my own. Tony was my friend and I felt I owed it to him to personally figure out what had happened. And then, I slipped back into bad habits. It felt like I was all alone, just like I had been when I was trying to keep Lisa a secret. Eventually, I realized I wasn't alone, that I work with some pretty brilliant people who have special skills whose insights would speed things along. In fact, I had come to the decision to talk to you about what I was finding, to see if you would help me."

"You did? When was this?"

It was Ianto's turn to look sheepish. "The day I decked you and Owen. I had planned to talk with you as soon as I finished my lunch. Instead ..."

"Instead," Jack said with a grimace, "things got blown completely out of proportion. I should have been more understanding. And I certainly shouldn't have ordered all your research destroyed."

"No. You did the right thing. When you picked me up this morning, I was still clinging to the hope that Tony's death was something other than what it was. Jack, I spent just one week living like he did. I never realized just how horrifying a life it is. The constant struggle, the insidious fear that lurks continually, the horrible dehumanization that happens. I spent _one week_ like that and it's an experience that I will never forget. Tony lived that way for the _entire year_ I knew him. I realize now that Tony committed suicide. Simple as that. I was wrong to think otherwise.

Jack started laughing. "So, Ianto Jones, further evidence you are not infallible."

"It's not funny, Jack."

He sobered somewhat. "No, I suppose it's not but you're still wrong."

"That's what I just said." Ianto huffed indignantly.

"What I meant was you were right all this time. Tony didn't commit suicide. Not exactly." Jack gave him another deep kiss before saying, "Now if you'll join us in the conference room, we can fill you in on everything we've uncovered while you work at filling that empty belly of yours."

As soon as he stepped through the threshold, Gwen, eyes dancing with delight, had leapt up and swallowed him in a firm hug. Laughing, she kept switching from hugging him to kissing his cheek. It was Tosh, though, who truly touched his soul. It was she who made him realize just how much his disappearing for a week had affected everyone. She approached slowly, tears pouring from her bright eyes. She placed a timid hand on his chest. "You're okay." Tosh finally smiled up at him, tears still streaking down her cheeks. "I would never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you."

He pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry I worried you. It won't happen again."

"Don't make promises you know you won't keep," she laughed in reply.

His nostrils flared from the whiff of food. As much as he wanted to stay where he was, to continue to reassure the two women that he had taken no harm, his survival instinct was beginning to kick in. His body frantically required sustenance and he was being kept from it.

It was Owen, of all people, who took mercy on him. "Ladies. We all know you are very happy to have the wayward tea boy back but you're preventing him from getting what he needs most right now. Unless you want him to pass out from hunger, why don't we all sit down so he can eat?"

Ianto tried to be gentle as he pushed them out of his way. The only thing he could concentrate on was the Styrofoam container Owen held. He snatched the container and flipped open the lid in one jerky motion. Not bothering with utensils, his fingers grabbed chunks, shoveling, as fast as he could, the soft scrambled egg into his mouth. He nearly snarled when Owen yanked the food away from him.

"Easy, Ianto," he said soothingly. "I know your famished beyond reasoning but if you don't slow down, you'll just make yourself sick. Sit down and I'll give it back to you." Owen waited while he impatiently sat, eyes never shifting away from the food. "Small, slow bites, okay? Take it slow and I promise you will get all the food you need."

Ianto, mindless of the aghast eyes of the rest of the team, wiped his fingers messily on his shirt, picked up a fork, and very carefully began to eat. No one said anything. They just waited until he had finished with the egg and moved on to the dry toast. Even consuming the food with slow bites, he finished all too quickly, his stomach scarcely satisfied.

Owen ran a scanner over him. "Any dizziness or feel like you're going to be sick?"

"No. Just hungry. Ravenous actually."

With a nod to the others, he said, "Okay. Let's load him up." Everyone rose and starting setting nearby cartons of food, buffet-style, along the long table. "Everything is carefully balanced. Healthy, easy to digest proteins, plenty of vegetables, healthy fats. Don't eat too much of the breads or pastas. Don't want to risk sending your electrolytes spinning out of control."

Ianto grabbed the plate that had been set by him and started loading up from whatever dishes were closest to him. While he ate, keeping to small, steady bites under Owen's watchful eyes, the others picked and choose from the numerous selections. Ianto had cleared one plateful and was moving on to another when he finally spoke. "Jack, thanks for finding me this morning. Another hour out there and I would have been dining a la rubbish bins."

Four pair of eyes looked guiltily down at the plates sitting in front of them. Each was mounded with more food than they could comfortably eat, not to mention the multitude of containers scattered across the table, the majority of which were barely touched.

Jack pushed his plate away. "I think Ianto's gotten enough food in now that he can concentrate on listening as well as eating. Gwen, why don't you start."

"We found him, Ianto. We found out who Tony was." She gave a nod to Tosh who tapped a few keys on her ever-present keyboard. Immediately a large image was projected on the wall directly opposite Ianto. "Meet Tony Spellman."

Ianto lowered his fork and stared at the picture. Smiling at him was a youthful Tony, the face not yet marked by the constant exposure to the elements that would come later in life. But the eyes ... the eyes were the same deep brown, brimming with intelligence and compassion, alight with the joys that life offered. Atop the closely shorn hair was a bright red hat. "I thought his hat was just a castoff he'd found."

Gwen, her voice quiet with respect, replied, "From the pictures we've been able to uncover, that red Fedora was sort of his trademark. He rarely appeared without it."

Tosh tapped a few more keys and the image changed to one of a young boy as Gwen continued speaking. "Tony was born December 18, 1958 in the Commonwealth of Virginia in the United States. He graduated from high school at the top of his class, a trend that would continue through his undergraduate and graduate college programs. He eventually earned a doctorate in psychology with a specialization in grief counseling."

He sat there, stunned for a moment. "He earned a PhD and ended up homeless in Cardiff? How is that possible?"

"A tragic accident from what I've been able to piece together. In 1998, he wrote a self-help book entitled _Appreciating the Light of Joy_. It wasn't a best seller but it did have respectable sales. This led to a book signing and lecture tour in the U.S and UK, including a stop in Cardiff." While Gwen continued speaking, Tosh tapped a key and the image of Tony changed to a picture of a young woman with dark, ebony skin and a large cheery smile. "At one of his lectures in Cardiff, he met a local school teacher, Talitha Adams. Tony returned to Cardiff frequently over the next year to visit her. They married and settled here. Not quite a year and a half after that, they had a baby girl, Irma. On their fifth wedding anniversary, they were driving back from holiday when their car was struck by a drunk driver. Tony received minor injuries but Talitha was killed instantly. Their daughter was seriously injured and died two days later. Three months after that, Tony just fell off the grid. He left his home, his job. None of his relatives or friends heard from him again. I can only assume that's when he became homeless."

Ianto sat there, dumbfounded. "Why? Why would he just walk away from everything? He was a trained grief counselor. He knew he could have gotten help, that it would have gotten better so why did he choose to live that way instead?"

"Survivor's guilt," Jack said quietly. "It can beat down even the strongest of people." They shared a long, intent look. Both men had been haunted by guilt for surviving when other's didn't. It was yet another thing that brought and kept them together. "Do you need a break?"

Ianto shook his head unwaveringly. "No. I want to hear it all."

"Okay. Tosh, you're up."

Tosh leaned forward. "Ianto, I ordered a copy of Tony's book. It's already waiting in your flat along with copies of the pictures we could find of him."

"Thanks, Tosh. I ..."

She simply gave him a soft smile, for words were rarely necessary between them. There was a soft blush to her cheeks as she tapped a few keys on her keyboard. A line graph replaced the picture on the wall. "From what I have been able to determine, this phenomenon started approximately four years and eight months ago. The blue line represents what the suicide rates should have been during that time span in Cardiff. The red line represents the actual numbers of deaths ruled suicides. As you can see, the actual number of suicides has been slowly, but steadily, increasing for approximately three years with a sharp spike in the past six months."

Ianto studied the graph for several minutes. "Most of the spikes seem to occur in the wintertime. Could the rise in suicides be related somehow to colder weather?"

"At first glance, it does seem like there would be a correlation with colder temperatures but it wouldn't explain the odd increases in the summer months. After I did some more digging, the spikes are related to the sun or rather the decrease in sunlight due to heavy cloud cover."

Ianto leaned back, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. "And Cardiff has been experiencing unusually numerous storms and heavy cloud cover as well as significantly colder temperatures for the past couple of months. People are staying inside as much as possible which means less exposure to sunlight."

"Exactly." She tapped a few more keys and a third line, green this time, appeared on the graph. "I came across an interesting article by a sociologist named Dr. Bill Zellner. He had theorized that many fatal single vehicular accidents, meaning an accident only involving one car like someone killed because of crashing into a tree, were actually suicides. This green line factors in deaths at home, the workplace, or in one vehicle accidents that were ruled accidental but may have really been suicides."

"It's a fucking epidemic. How come ..." His words failed him as he stared at the graph showing such a implausible increase in deaths. "How come someone didn't see this?"

"Someone did." Jack, his voice layered with pride, said. "If not for your tenacity, we would have continued to be blind to the situation. Now we can track down what's doing this and put an stop to it. Tosh, have you made any progress on that front?"

"Not yet. There's just too many parameters at this time. We still don't know how long from when a person is affected to when they commit suicide. I have the CCTV facial recognition program tracking all the suicide victims a month back from their deaths and it has identified a few locations in commonality but nothing entirely concrete. There's no one location that is common to all victims from what I have been able to determine so far. The place where you picked up Ianto this morning is one of the possible hotspots though."

"Keep at it."

Owen leaned over and grabbed the keyboard from Tosh's hands, oblivious to the outraged look she threw at him. "I've managed to perform post-mortems on quite a number of victims while you've been playing at being a bum. There are some commonalities all the identified victims share." A tap of keys brought up a dozen close-up images of oval outlined marks on skin. "Every victim has these marks, mostly found near the wrist or on the lower arm. On a few bodies the marks appear on the neck or face. Earlier victims show a discernible decrease of serotonin and melatonin but in more recent victims, it's almost like something has drained them completely dry. Another commonality is that each body showed injury to the pineal gland. The more recent a victim, the more considerable the damage."

Owen's eyes began to sharpen with intense thought, his voice taking on the tones of speculation, and his body language clearly indicated he had forgotten the presence of the others as he began to puzzle through the data. "It's most certainly not a device so that leaves an alien as the most likely culprit. But why suck out the serotonin and melatonin? Could it be an addict looking for a 'happy' fix? No, that wouldn't account for the sporadic nature of the attacks. So it has to be some sort of biological necessity, one that is dependent on exposure to sunshine. Maybe it suffers from a form of seasonal affective disorder or maybe it ..."

Ianto pushed his empty plate away from him. "So, to sum up your findings, we've got an emotional vampire suffering from the winter blues wandering the streets of Cardiff."


End file.
